X-Men Re-Evolved
by kkhohoho
Summary: It is said (if not scientifically accurate,) that humanity evolved from the apes and chimpanzees long ago, to better adapt to their environment. But what if the environment is not yet ready for the evolution to come? What if the 'old model' - humans - feared that the next possible stage of humanity - mutants - would overtake them all? This then, is the world... of the X-Men.
1. Chapter 1: Pixie

X-Men Re-Evolved

Chapter 1

"Now class, if I may advise you to turn to page 666 – very fitting, considering the little hellspawns some of you no doubt are..."

_Booooring_, thought Megan. Seriously, could the little hand on the clock move _any_ slower? Bad enough that she and her family had to move from Wales all the way to America; Wales was _pretty! _And _fun. _Why in Oberon's name did they _ever _have to move, and for reasons that her parents never seemed to want to explain to her other than, 'Well deary, we figured a change in scenery would do us all a world o' good, help yer ailing granda' to be certain...'? It just didn't make any sense to her at all. And now, here she was, sitting down on her tush all day listening to old men and women drone on and on and _on. _Mind you, that was how it tended to be in Wales anyway, but at least for her, things tended to be a bit more... _interesting, _is all. At the least, her old highschool always had the most gorgeous view of the tall veridian woods. Funny, that; she always seemed to have a certain... longing for those woods, or _any _woods, really. Hell, she'd even thought about running starkers through them once or twice- but enough of that. At that moment, the clock turned to three, and that was that. Time for action, adventure, excitement! ...Well, perhaps not so much of either, but it would still be better than that horribly long day of class she just had to sit through. She ran her hands through her blonde hair – which always had just a tinge of pink to it, for reasons that, again, her parents never bothered to explain to her, but everyone else merely thought it was dye – and darted straight out of the class. Time for home, for freedom, for _pixie-sticks, _for-

"Hey, mutie!"**  
**

Now that was odd. 'Mutie?' She hadn't been in America that long, but you'd think she would have heard that particular oddity elsewhere in her lifetime. She slowly whirred her head, but when she got a look at whoever just threw out that... insult, perhaps? Whoever said that, it didn't actually seem to be directed at her. Instead, it was... why, she was just a girl! It was... three, yes, three boys, all ganging up on a defenseless girl. How could they do such a thing?

"Oi, wankers!"

The boys slowly turned around, giving Megan a few rather mean looks. Megan didn't so much as bat an eyelash, and why should she? The tossers, picking on a-

And then she got a good look at the girl. Her back was facing the lockers, and she was practically quivering, but right next to her right foot was a rather wide headband. And right smackdab in the middle of her forehead-

_Wait._ "Is that a third eye you've got there?"

"You can see it, can't you?", said one of the boys. "My girl said she got a real good luck at it the other day. Had to see if it was true. Well, guess what? It's frickin' true!"

Well now. That was a different... no. No.

"No. You know what?", said Megan. "It's certainly a bit strange, to be certain, but, you know, people are.. people are all _different, _yeah? I mean, so what if you've got brown hair, black skin... a third eye, we're all still people here now, are we not? I mean, what if _you _had a, a, I don't know, a third _ass? _What about that?!"

"...You implyin' I already had a _second _ass?", said the boy, as he drew out a very fine switchknife.

"...Uh, ahem... no," said Megan. "No, not... not particularly, no, eh-heh..."

She just _had _to go one too far. Then again, it wouldn't have been the first time. Just back away, thought Megan. Just back away _slowly..._

"Uh, hey; Welsh girl?", said the boy. "You might want to not be takin' so many steps back..."

The boy's warnings didn't really register. "What do you _mean, __'_not taking so many steps back?!' I mean, it's not like I said you had, you had three asses,or anything of the sort, right, _right!?"_

"Uh, girl...," said the boy.

"I mean, come on," said Megan, "we're all friends here, right_**-**_!"

_OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD, OHCRAP, WHY DIDN'T I NOTICE THE BLOODY CONSTRUCTION TAPE, SURE THERE WAS A RAILING, SO BLOODY HIGH UP, ONLY PART OF IT WAS UNDER CONSTRUCTION FOR WHO KNOWS WHY- huh?_

Somewhere in between her frantic, desperate thoughts and what would surely be her inevitable bloody fall to the long floor below, Megan finally noticed that something was... _different _about her. Come to think of it, the world wasn't upside down anymore. And she _did _hear a rather loud sound – sort of like a '_RIP' _– coming straight from her back. Almost like her shirt – wait; did she suddenly spurt new arms from her back or something? Because she felt something there...

She turned her head to try and see just what was going on with her back, and-

"Oh... my... God..._"_

She could scarcely believe it. And, how could she not? Jutting out from her back were too rather large and rather fairy-like _wings. _And they were flapping like a mad bee. Funnily enough, it seemed that all it took was consciously thinking about her wings flying, and-

"Oh no, no_t ag_ain-!"

Come on you wings, right, flap fl_ap flap flap flap, COME ON, FLAP FLAP FLAP FLAP FUCKING FLAP-!_

Just several feet before she would have hit the ground, her wings started flapping like a motorboat once again. Now all she had to do was land – a task easier said then done, but slowly, oh-so-slowly she went, bobbing about in the air like a breeze on the wind until finally, at long last, she landed.

_Wings. I've got _wings. _How's _that _gonna' work? Although, this is actually kind o' cool!...Hey, is it just me going into well-justified hysteria, or-_

No; Megan was not mistaken. She was, in fact, getting shorter.

_Oh, come on...!_

Once looking over all at a magnificent 6'2, Pixie could swear she was now no higher than a 4'0, and she now had the slumping, baggy clothes to prove it. She almost thought they might just slip away, but strangely, she seemed rather comfortable with that thought. And the fields – the _fields_, the forest; it was almost as if they were... calling to her-

"Oh my God,_" _said someone from the crowd," is that-"

"It's a fuckin' mutie!", said another.**  
**

"Hey, are the mutie's pants about to fall off?"

"Who cares? Freak of nature, that's what they all are...

"Hey, are you gettin' this on your phone?"

"Come on! Mutants are people too!"

"Have you ever eaten with one?"

"It's a mutie! Someone call the cops!"

'Mutie?' Isn't that what they were calling the girl from just a moment ago? But... come to think of it, she had heard reports of them back in Wales every now and then, but she supposed she must have had paid little attention to them, if she wasn't remembering them on the spot. And why should she have? They couldn't have _possibly _had anything to do with her, right?

_Right?_

"Hey,," said another bystander, "whatchu' all doin'? Get that friggin' mutie!"

She had to get out of here. If anything else, she knew that. But...

She had to take the girl with her. She was a 'mutant' too, right? She flapped her wings again, almost instinctively now, and flew up to the broken tape that she'd previously fallen through. Whoever was working on putting in a new set of rails, they had better be _fired _after her rather near-death experince, if nothing else. Actually, other more... 'mischievous' thoughts came to mind about the potential fates of the various construction workers, but she pushed those aside; she needed to get the girl. She also found herself pushing aside her hair; it seemed rather shaggy now, maybe even long; she swore she could feel it brushing against her heels as she flew. She flew up and landed straight down in front of the girl, who had been looking at the sight below, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, and now, she turned to face Megan, and –

"No," said the girl, "no, get _away _from me!"

_What?_

"...What?", said Megan.

"No, no," said the girl, "you're, you're a mutant, aren't you?! Get away!"

"But," said Megan, "but you're a mutant too," said Megan, "aren't you?"

"No!" The girl was practically screaming at the top of her lungs. "You're a, you're a mutantmutant!

"'Mutant mutant?'," said Pixie. " Lass, that has to be the most inane, blighted- look. You remember me, right? I tried to save you, right?"

"You're, you're different now," said the girl." You've got... you've got pink hair, black eyes, elf ears, huge wings... hey..." The girls' expression gradually seemed to change from one of fear, to one of immense glee. "You're a fairy!"

Well, that was a quick turnaround ,wasn't it, thought Megan. "Uh, yes! Yes, I'm a... I'm a fairy, a pixie, that's right! Now, if the both of us can get out of here in just a tick..."

"HEY!", yelled another kid. "THE MUTIE'S OVER HERE! AND... YEAH! THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!"

"Yeah, you're right!," yelled yet another kid. "...The younger one looks mostly normal, 'cept for the eye. But the other one-"

"Yeah," said the other kid, "the other one's a fucking morlock! Get her!"

"Is that a jet?"_," _said another kid.

"Come on lass!" said Megan.

"But-"

"No buts!" She took the girl – who didn't honestly know _what _to think at this point – and flew out through one of the open windows, into the fine spring air. And it just so happened that the first thing she saw was-

"Is that a jet?"

She could scarcely believe it. Coming down from the blue skies above like a crowing blackbird was a sleek, humming mass of black metal. It landed on the wide school fields. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was here to carry her and the girl away from this awful, _awful _dream. ...Except it probably _wasn't _a dream, was it? Though in some ways, it might as well have been. On the one hand, she could now soar into the very heavens themselves, she bet. And somehow... it just felt _right. _As if this was how things were supposed to be all along. Funny how she still wanted to just tear it all straight off and-

"Hey, is that a-", said a civilain.

"It's a mutant! Run!", said another.

"And we," said Megan, " should be doin' the same. Come-"

_Wait..._

Okay; that last thought was nother own. What in-

_Hello there. Megan Gwenn, is it?_

_...What's it to you? And how do you know my name? And how are you in my _head?_ ...Maybe this _is _all a dream. Maybe my fantasies of strutting starkers in the forests were just the first signs, and everything else is just the rest of a bizzare psychotic episode that's been building up in my blessed noggin for years now..._

_Okay, Megan? Take it from someone who's actually _had _'psychotic episodes'; this is anything _but _a 'psychotic episode.' Yes, you do in fact have pink hair, black eyes, large wings, your clothes are starting to fall off-_

_Wait; how can you be seeing me from-_

_I'm 'hijacking' another set of eyes, as it were. Not actually controlling them or their thoughts; I'm just hitching a ride for a bit. But Megan; you don't really know _what _you are. Not really. And trust this from someone's who gone through so much that I hope _you_ never have to go through; this is _real. _This _is_ reality_. _And if you walk away – or fly away, as it were – if you fly away now, things are _not _going to be easy for you. And your friend won't be much better off either. Not to mention, you don't even understand yourself that well-_

_How do _you _know how well I understand-_

_You've already been having... strange thoughts, haven't you? With some of us, the change is only physical; on the outside. But for others-_

_Wait; how are you doing all this? Is this some sort of... some sort of super-secret techno-telepath _thing? _Because if it _is, _that would be both incredibly scary, and incredibly _cool-

_Megan. The jet is opening it's doors as we _think._ I do want to help you, but to do that, I need you to come with us. We might be able to see your parents later, but-_

_'Might?'_

_Megan, we're only trying to help. Please..._

'Help', she said. On the one hand, this telepathic whatzitz, whatever it was, was... rather awesome. On the other hand... but still, she didn't really have much of a choice, did she? It was either flying off into the for- ...flying off to who knows where, staying here and letting things fall as they may, or getting onto the... very cool jet that looked like something you'd only see in the movies and was so shiny and cool and-

"Hey, girl," said Megan to her passenger. "You want to take a little trip?"

"...You mean on the jet?"," said the girl.

"Yeah," said Megan.

"...Cool!"," said the girl.

And as Megan flew off into towards the jet, she couldn't help but agree. It was cool. Scary, but cool. Much like her own personal changes. But perhaps whoever she had just 'spoken' with could make the 'scary' part much less scary. And as the she flew up the jet's ramp, and as the jet's door's closed, and as the massive crowd upon the campus began to surround it in wonder, and as it began to take off high into the air, the woman who had put her thoughts into Megan's spoke to her once more...

_Oh, and by the way? I'm Jean Grey._

_Tidy._


	2. Chapter 2: Fitting in the Pieces

X-Men Re-Evolved: Chapter 2

"...Tidy."

This was something else. If the last five minutes would not change Megan's life forever, this – the grand inner body of the jet she had just flown into – would, even if she would not be able to tell just howfor some time. She always used to have quite the distrust of advanced technology – 'You've got your tushes parked too long in front a' yer silly laptops and you keep checking those silly texts instead a' having some actual conversation!', she often used to say, though he sometimes wondered as if there was some deeper meaning behind a girl her age not liking what other girls her age practically ogled over – but this was almost enough to win her over. It actually served a practical purpose, for one – not everyone could fly like herself, and she certainly couldn't have just yesterday – but part of her still possessed some sort of innate distrust for it. Still, this time, she couldn't think of any proper excuse not to like it. As for the tripled-eyed girl...

"Cool!"

...she was content. She ran for the nearest window, looking down at the ground below. "They... they can't get us now, can they?"

_I _really _wouldn't think so..._

There she was again! Only this time, she could somehow 'feel' where the thought was coming from; almost as if she was letting her. Although there might not have been much of a need, considering she was-

"Right behind you."

She whirled around, and-

"Well, there you are," said Megan. "Didn't expect you to be so tall. And who's the bloke?"

Standing in front of Megan and the girl was a tall woman with long, fiery wavy hair that reached down to just above the waist. Standing next to her was a rather well-built fellow with one hell of a sixpack. His brown hair was well-cropped, and both him and Jean were wearing … spandex? Yes-sir-ee; sleeveless black leather across the body, with yellow gloves&booties, and a small black&yellow 'X' emblem upon their right breasts. Perhaps they were getting ready for a show? But more importantly-

"What's that you've got there?", Megan asked. "Some new sort of sunglasses?" The more correct term would likely have been 'visor'; a sleek, ocular yellow visor with ruby-red lens that completely obscured the man's eyes.

"Uh, Megan...," said the tall woman...

"It's fine, Jean," said the man. "Name's Scott Summers, otherwise known as Cyclops. You must be Megan, right?" He then turned to the triple-eyed girl. "And you?"

"Huh?" The three-eyed girl shuffled around her feet while looking downward, as if asking such a question was the equivalent of saying your straps were hanging off the end. "Uh... Cory. Cory Smith."

"Glad to meet you, Cory." The man known as Cyclops tried his best to smile, but at best could only raise his lips slightly in a sort of vain gesture.

"You'll have to excuse Scott," said Jean. "He means well, he really does. But sometimes..." Jean then cast a brief, cold glance at Scott; lover's quarrel, perhaps? That sounded fun, at least to Megan. No, really, it did. Only she wasn't sure why... "Sometimes,", said Jean, "he just doesn't always know how to show it."

"Look Jean," said Scott, "I'm sorry, okay? But-"

"Hey, pipe down back there! Can hear it all the way from the front seat! Need to be able to steer this thing, 'less you want us to crash..."

Obviously, that was the pilot. And boy, did _he _sound crossed. One too many nickers in a twist, perhaps?

Jean and Scott first looked towards the front of plane, then towards each other, almost longingly, but then turned aside from one another once again.

"Uh... ahem," said Jean to Megan and Cory.. "Uh, yes. That would be Forge."

'Forge?' What, was his mutant ability to 'forge' anything he ever wanted to? Somehow, that didn't exactly sound like 'Cool-Powers-Central' to Megan. Of perhaps she just wasn't using her imagination much. "He's the pilot?"

"He is until we can get an... alternative means of transportation," said Cyclops. "We're already looking into one or two-"

"Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait WAIT!", yelled Megan. "...Look, I... I appreciate everything you've done for me, I truly do, but-"

"But," said Jean, "you need to know who we are, what we do, and-"

"And why you came and saved me," said Megan, "yeah. Never really thought I all was that special." Of course, that was a bold-faced lie, but if Jean ever sensed that, she seemed to be keeping it to herself.

"...Look," said Cyclops. "We've got a bit of a trip, so-"

"Wait a minute," said Megan, "'trip?'

"You weren't supposed to be our first stop." said Cyclops.

"Sorry to say," said Jean, "but he's right. We were supposed to be heading off towards Chicago."

"Chicago?," said Megan. About the only 'Chicago' she'd ever seen in her lifetime was the one movie with the half-naked women prisoners in their nickers. It was entertaining enough, she supposed, and yet, she now had the strange desire to see it again...

"Right, said Cyclops. "We got word that a traveling company from Europe's in town. And it just so happens that one of the performers is-

"A mutant?," said Megan.

"You got it," said Cyclops.

"But-"

"But," said Jean, "that still doesn't explain how we know he is what he is, or why we picked you up, right?"

"Yeah."

Jean smirked, ever so slightly. "Megan, I'm a telepath."

_Telepath? ...Wait a minute..._

"Oh..." Well, thought Megan, that explained a lot. "So, can you just, I dunno, find any mutant anytime you want, or-"

"Not exactly," said Jean. "But hey, stick with us, and you'll see soon enough."

"...Those people..." The three-eyed girl's hands were practically trembling now, her head again tilted towards the cold steel below her. "They... they took off my headband. It was... I had someone who was- who I thought was a friend. So... So I showed her. Showed her my eye. And then... and then..."

She then looked straight up at Megan, her eyes starting to tear up; they were shot wide open, almost as if they could see all. "And you! They... they thought you were a monster. I thought you were a monster. I..." She then ran straight into Megan, burrowing her face into Megan's chest.

"I... I don't..." She then took her face out of Megan's chest, and look straight down at her, almost pleadingly. "I... I'm sorry. You tried to save me, and then you did, but after the first time and before the second time-"

"Uh, hey! Don't sweat it!" Truth be told, Megan wasn't sure what to think either. It all didn't seem to bother her that much at first, but now that she had time to think some more about it, it...

She could never go back, could she? To her old school, her old friends, her family. But... she could try, couldn't she? I mean, maybe the girl's friend wasn't so understanding, but she was sure her friends – her family – she was sure they would understand completely. Deep down, she must have still been the same old Megan, maybe even better. It couldn't be so bad-

_It's a mutie! Get her!_

"Jean," said Megan, with a sense of calm that seemed almost strange coming from her, "what exactly is a mutant?"

* * *

"Guy... Oh, Guy... Hey, GUY! ...Guess he's still in his room. Figures."

Bobby Drake – a young, brown-haired man who had just reached adulthood recently – honestly couldn't bring himself to give a crap. What was he even doing here in the first place? ...Being ran out of town, for one. Yeah, that was definitely a memorable experience. One minute, he was making a snowman in the summer an-d showing off to his friends – 'Hey guys, look what I can do! – and the next, he learned the hard way just what exactly 'racial profiling' meant.

"And I wasn't even a black guy!", he suddenly blurted out. It then occurred to him that perhaps that wasn't something one should exactly say out loud. He looked down the corridor – a mahogany hall with some nice throwrugs – and, much to his dismay, there were several students, all ranging from almost perfectly normal to apparent freaks of nature, starting at him for a moment in sheer bewilderment, before shaking it off and going back to their feared&hated lives. "Yeah, good one Bobby," he said to himself. "Make everyone think you're some sort of racist..." Which he wasn't; not particularly, anyway. Growing up in a small town in the midwest, there were bound to be some lingering views of certain... 'types', of course, but he never really hated any of those 'types'! And in any case, he sure wasn't going to go running his mouth off about that sort of thing – on purpose, anyway – after what had happened to him. If it wasn't for the Professor...

But, time to get back to work. 'Work.' How he hated that word. Still, the kind of work he was involved in was better than just sitting around and doing coursework all day, which, seeing as he was pulled out of his first highschool early due to having to flee said highschool, is something he still was subject to at least three times a week. The other four days was... he supposed he could call it a job, but he wasn't exactly getting paid beyond free meals and a place to rest your head. Still, better than all school, all the time. He supposed he'd better get moving though. Otherwise, he'd have to deal with Sean shouting into his ear again. 'AND IF I CATCH YE WITH MY DAUGHTER AGAIN, BOY'O!...' That had to have been the worst ten minutes of his life, even worse than getting run out of town; 'Luck of the Irish' be damned. Course, if he was still back in school, he'd never get caught saying 'damned' within an inch of his life. Nice little Christian town and all. But after what happened to him – his friends, his family, his harassment by those were supposed to 'protect and serve' – he hadn't believed in much already by that point, but now, he believed in even less.

...And it seemed that he managed to make it to Guy's room. Well, he guessed he'd better see if 'mister sensitive' was in there...

"Guy? ...Uh, Guy? It's Bobby. Bobby Drake. I know we only met the other day – you gave me a nice couple of hits in the danger room, by the way. Totally awesome, and I'm totally gonna' get you back for that – but Xavier's located another mutant – another one like us, I guess – and Edie's still in some poor shape, so we're supposed to be going along with Sean to pick this new one up, and... uh, Guy? Buddy? ...You are in there, right?"

He pushed on the door just a bit; it was unlocked. Funny that. "Uh, Guy? ...Look, we kinda' need to get moving, so..." He creaked the door open just a bit... "Uh, Guy? ...Okay, sorry buddy, but we need to get a move on, so I'll just be popping in for a bit- WHOA! DUDE!"

Facing the door while sitting in the recliner was a young man, just a couple of years older than Bobby. His skin was a light purple, and small bumps seemed to cover his entire body; almost like acne. His hair was as white as bleach, and he had two long attenae, or feelers, sticking out of the top of his head. His eyes were closed, and he seemed somewhat... remorseful.

Oh, and he was pointing a gun straight to his head.

Bobby had to act fast. He hadn't been at this for long, but he knew enough to fire a blast of intense cold from his hands; cold enough to freeze Guy's own hand solid. Strangely, he just continued to sit there, even as he started to shiver like a vibrator...

"Are you insane?!," Bobby yelled. "I just thought you were overly sensitive, not that you had a death wish! Did you-"

"The gun wasn't loaded," stated Guy, as a matter of fact.

"What?" Well, thought Bobby, that was... odd. "The gun... wasn't loaded."

"No. It..." The man – Guy Smith, presumably - looked up at Bobby, his eyes starting to mist up just slightly. "This is something..." He paused for a moment. "Something I used to do... every single day. Only then, it was..."

"Are you serious?, said Bobby.

"It... The gun wasn't loaded." Guy sat there still for another a moment, and then rose like a loose plank shooting up. He was wearing a black&yellow leather suit; it was similar to Bobby's and the others, but unlike theirs, it covered every single inch of his body up to the top of the neck. "I heard every word. Let's go." He then looked at his hand. "My right hand is cold. Very cold..."

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" said Bobby, as the pair started walking through the halls towards the elevator. "Look, I haven't been at this for long myself, but I don't think I'd be wanting to shoot myself before going on a single mission. Sure, life's been shit to me lately, but I don't think it'd ever get so bad that-"

"It did," said Bobby. "Life did. Life's been bad to me ever since I was five..."

"...Huh," said Bobby. "Surprised you remember that far back. Me, all I remember is calling my teddy bear 'Mister Buttertoes...'"

Guy didn't say a word. He was as silent as the grave. Something really seemed to be on his mind though. But as for Bobby, he didn't really care. Everyone had problems; to each, his own. "Ah well..." Now in front of the elevator, Bobby pushed a button, and after a few seconds, the doors opened up. "Come on, 'mister sensitive'..."

"It's the Orphan," said Guy, as they walked into the elevator.

"Really," said Bobby. "How's that?"

"My parents tried to murder me when I was five years old."

"Yeah," said Bobby, "yeah, whatever." But after a moment...

"...Wait, what-?!"

And as Bobby stood there, practically flabbergasted, the elevator door in front of him closed, as the two of them made their way beneath the mansion's ground floor...

"...Uh, if if isn't too much of an inconvenience,", said Megan, "would you mind starting over again? It's a lot to take in..." Everyone was now seated within the Jet, except for Scott, his shoulders closed against his chest as usual.

"Megan," said Scott, "I understand that you're new to all this, but if you can't pay attention for-"

"Scott," said Jean, "she is new to all this. And it is a lot to take in. So I think we should give her a bit of leeway, don't you?"

After a moment, Scott said, "Sorry Jean. You're right."

She smiled at that. "Aren't I always? Now, Megan – are you listening too, Cory?"

"Yes ma'am..." Truth be told, Cory had listened to and perfectly understood every word that had been said since Jean had started her little 'lesson.' When her entire world wasn't immediately crashing down upon her, she was surprisingly a rather good listener.

"Good," said Jean. Now, how best to explain this... As you probably know, evolution is something that has occurred since the dawn of the Earth as we know it. When the environment changes around a species, the species adapts. And as you also probably know, it's an almost proven fact that monkeys evolved into what is now the dominant species on the planet; humans. However, it seems there was more to our species than meets the eye. To this day, scientists can't seem to properly explain it, or trace it's origins, but within ever so many humans lies the potential for... well, for change, basically."

"Change?", said Megan. "Like growing wings or... or suddenly dropping feet in height, that sort of change?" While part of her was strangely comfortable with either fact, another part was still rather distraught about the latter one...

Jean thought about it for a moment, a finger against her head, before saying, "I guess if you want to put it like that, sure. No-one knows when it started, but there's a gene in so many humans that, when someone reaches a certain age – usually their puberty years – that's when they start to change. Sometimes before, sometimes after, though a quick boost of adrenaline can help speed up the process, far as I understand it."

"You mean, when I fell through the construction tape-

"Wait a minute," Jean interrupted. "Ah, there we go. I usually don't go rummaging through people's thoughts unless they ask me to or it's an emergency situation, but surface thoughts aren't exactly something that's always easy to avoid." Another moment passed, and- "A switchknife? The asshole!"

Yeah," said Megan, now practically reliving part of the previous experience, "Tell me about it. But, you swear you didn't-"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," said Jean. So, back to our rousing lesson; yeah, when you fell through that tape, your gene must have kicked in a bit early. Now, when a gene activates, well, there's usually no surefire way to tell just how it's all going to turn out. You might end up like Cory over here – maybe an extra eye, a new appendage-"

"Gross!" Evidently, Cory had just conjured up a mental image of an extra arm grown straight out of her third eye; both Cory herself, as well as Jean Grey, were not amused.

"You got that right," said Jean. "...Sometimes, there's things you just don't wanna' see. But no; you, Megan, you're sort of on the... opposite end of the spectrum."

"'Opposite end?'", said Megan.

"Well," said Jean. not exactly. Trust me, there's some mutants who have had far more... 'interesting' changes than you, but I don't know still if you'd be able put on a trenchcoat and call it good, if you know what I'm saying. And even that would gather suspicion, even if you weren't a mutant."

Megan chuckled. She remembered seeing an old sketch from... she couldn't remember the name, but some old sketch comedy show, where an old man flashed his fine manhood to several innocent girls. Something about that seemed... fun, somehow...

"Now," said Jean, not everyone realizes this, but as it turns out, there's a third kind of mutant."

"A third kind?," said Mean.

"Yes. Megan, I don't have any extra appendages, no physical abnormalities; nothing that would appear out of the normal. And yet, I can read both your mind and those others with just a thought. How else would you describe this but a third type?"

"...Oh."

"It's not limited to people like me though," said Jean, "people who'd otherwise be able to pass as ordinary people. People who fall into the first kind of mutant, or even people like you, who fall into the second type, can get these powers as well. And – sad to say, but – this third type tends to get called in some circles – those who know about it – as 'Homo Superior.'

"Is that right?"," said Megan.

"Honestly, can you believe it?", said Jean, rising up out of her seat. "I never wanted to be 'superior' to anyone! I just wanted to – I still want to – I want to just live a normal life!"

"Jean..." Cyclops nearly placed his hand upon Jean's shoulder, but after a moment, she politely brushed it away.

"Don't worry Cyclops. I'm fine. But in case you couldn't guess, Megan, mutants don't exactly have the most positive rep. It's bad enough that some mutants get called 'Homo Superior'; the second type gets called 'Morlocks', after the underground-dwelling monsters from the 'The Time Machine."

"Ouch." Megan had never read the book herself, but she'd still heard about it. This was all almost starting to sound like bloody science fiction.

"Might as well be science fiction, Megan," said Jean. "Sorry about that; surface thoughts, you know? I can close myself off to most long-distance thoughts, but when someone's just a few feet away, it can still be a problem." She took a moment to get back to her original line of thought before continuing on. "And then the mutants who are just about normal get called, well, 'Almost Normal's.' Gets the point across, I guess, and it's not as bad as the other two, but still."

"So," said Megan, "this is all 'cause of, 'cause of of some gene."

"It's because of a lot more than that, girl." Stepping out from the cockpit was an old man, in his late 60's or so, dressed in similar garb as Cyclops and Jean, but with a brown bomber jacket and a Navaho headband beside. He seemed to be Native American. Then again, Megan would be Native Welsh, if you wanted to get technical...

"Forge?", said Cyclops. "Shouldn't you be piloting the plane?"

"We' about near our destination anyhow," said Forge. "Managed to get the old girl on auto-pilot."

"Um," asked Megan, "uh, that isn't your real name, is it?"

"It's as good a name as any," said Forge.

"Uh, right," said Megan. This just occurred to me – just popped into my head really – but wouldn't such a large plane as this make for a number-one headline on whatever passes as the national news in this country?"

Forge sighed. "Kids never just trust their elders these days, do they? No need to worry, kid; plane's got a state-of-the-art cloaking system. Only reason it wasn't on when we landed was so that you'd be able to find the plane."

"Ah."

"Yup," said Forge. "But like I was saying, this whole situation; it's the way it is because it's a matter of control.'

"Control?," said Megan.

"Yup," said Megan. "Think about it. They may be only be a few hundred mutants with actual powers, but-"

"Only a few hundred?"

"Yes," said Forge. "Yes there are. And there will be one less mutant around if she decides she should interrupt me again."

"Uh, yeah, well," said Megan. Sorry."

"Forge." Summers was a tad unpleased.

Jean couldn't help but chuckle. "Lighten up, Scott. You could stand to loosen up a bit. Go on, Forge."

"...So," said Forge, "in all likelihood, there's only a few hundred mutants that have actual powers, but to the Government, even that small a number could mean the same thing as a nuke. Maybe even several. And as far as they're concerned, any mutant could have that sort of power – any mutant. Wouldn't be surprised if some of the boys at the top wanted to put us into camps."

"Camps?" Cory looked up at Forge, her eyes anxious and filled with worry. "But, but I don't want to be sent to a camp!"

Jean seemed about to butt in, but Forge just kept on going, smiling re-assuredly as he did so, at least at first. "And you won't be. Not anytime soon, at least. See, the Government can't just do whatever it wants; not our Government anyway. We're practically at the top of the world; what sort of message would it send out if we just started caging whoever we liked? And the people wouldn't like that either. Some of them may even agree with some of the people up in Government for now, but they wouldn't like it if mutants starting getting put into camps. If it could happen to mutants, it could happen to them. It's just that they won't realize it unless it actually happens."

"So, no camps?"

"No kid; no camps," said Forge. But what we've got is a population that already distrusts its fellow man; what do you expect them to do with potential walking nukes that aren't even called 'human?' The very use of the term 'mutant' at least when applied to our kind, was cooked up to just divide us even more! And the fact that some of us don't even look human – and I just stood by all those years and watched it happen..."

"That's enough Forge," said Scott putting a hand on Forge's shoulder. "We've all got shadows in our closest we'd rather forget. I've got enough to last a lifetime. You've lived a lifetime. I think I can tell which of us is the worse off..."

Forge respectfully placed Scott's hand away from his shoulder. "I... Thanks, Cyclops. I just... "He took a moment before turning away. "This is just something I need to deal with myself. Nothing against you."

"It's a leader's duty to take care of his teammates." said Cyclops.

This wasn't exactly something Forge was used to. Here he was, a 67 year old man, getting chided by a youngster who could practically be his son, for- No. He wasn't chiding him. He was just trying to help. He had to remember that.

"Thanks Summers," said Forge, "but I think I can look after myself just fine. Won't be in the field that much anyway, today not withstanding."

"So," said Megan, "I know all about what I am – kind of – and what a mutant is, and why we're treated like Mr. Jonhson's daily trash-dump. But there's still one thing I don't understand. Who are you? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're all great blokes, but, you know; you don't exactly come across as a group of well-looking fellows flying something like this about like a Sunday drive 'round the block."

"Good point," said Jean. "We... How to explain this... As we've told you, some mutants go a step beyond just looking different than humans. Some can do something a bit... 'X-tra.'

"...Blimey," said Pixie. Sorry , I truly am, but... 'X-tra?' That's as if a boy was trying to ask me on a date and said, 'Hey, little pixie, wanna' do some flapping tonight?"

"You're both bad..." said Corey, shaking her head and looking away in disapproval.

"Uh, right," said Jean. "Moving on. So, X-tra power. Some mutants have them, but others don't. Now, some of us would probably like to do not much more than live within our old comfort zones and just live our lives, but think about it; if you found yourself possessing the power to, I don't know, control fire, and at the same time, became treated like the scum of the Earth, what would you do?"

"Well," said Megan, "I wouldn't do anything with it! Who wants to burn down innocent, defenseless forests?!"

"It's not just forests that I'm talking about, Megan." Funny, thought Jean, how the fate of the forests seemed to be the first thing that popped into her mind...

"Oh, right," said Megan. "Yeah, that would be pretty bad, wouldn't it?"

"You think?", said Forge.

"And that's why we're around," said Cyclops. "We – me, Jean, Forge, and many others – we exist to protect mutants from any humans that explicitly wish to harm, as well as mutants that wish attack humans."

"...But," Cory began to say, "what if there... what if there was something that threatened both mutants and humans?"

"Then we'd handle it," said Cyclops. "Actually, looking at it from an objective point of view, such a situation might actually help to bring mutants and humans closer together..."

"You'll have to forgive Scott," said Jean. "He likes to look at situations from... multiple angles. You get used to it." "And yet, she thought, in some ways, you never really do...

"...So," said Megan, "you use your special powers to... to fight both mutants and humans that could harm other mutants and humans?"

"That's 'bout the gist of it," said Forge.

"Are you superheroes or something?", said Megan. 'Cause if you were, that would be tidy as fuck!"

"One," said Jean, "if you're going to join our school, language, please. Second, I guess you could see it that way, but we don't really see ourselves that way. We just want to try and gain some level of peace between mutants and humans, and-"

"And making sure they don't kill each other first is practically part of our mission statement," said Forge," or I bet it will be, once we start really kicking off our operations."

"Forge-!"

"Jean," said Cyclops. "Look, I know Forge is being rather harsh, even when you yourself called me out, but I've realized that even if he isn't being very tact about it, he does have a point. Mutants and humans have never been on the best of terms. But what we're trying to do is change that; even if we can't truly change how mutants and humans feel about each other, the least we can do is move things one step closer to that goal."

"Right," said Jean, now turning again towards Megan. "And fighting other mutants and, at times, even other humans, are far from the only things that we plan to do."

"That so?", said Megan.

"Definitely," said Jean. "So far, we plan to show up at rallies, hold conferences, make public appearances, the works."

"Won't that just put you all in danger?", said Cory.

"Maybe," said Jean, "but it's better than keeping ourselves cooped up in some mansion and keeping separate from the rest of the world while it keeps going down a path that none of us agree with."

"And who's 'us?," said Pixie.

Jean smiled. "Who do you think?" She slowly pointed to the emblem upon her chest. "Call us the X-Men."

"X-'Men'?," said Pixie. "Isn't that being just a wee gender-specific? I mean, you aren't- unless you are...!"

That was enough to send Jean into a living riot of laughter; even Cyclops was doing his best to stifle a few chuckles.

"No, no," said Jean. "We actually thought about just calling ourselves 'X-People', but it didn't seem to have quite the same 'ring' to it. We then voted on either 'X-Men', or X-'Woman'. Still kind of sore on the end result, to be honest."

***BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!***

"That was fast," said Forge. "Sit tight. Someone has to land this thing." He hurried back to the pilot's seat. As he left, he gave a quick glance towards Megan before shifting his gaze back to the cockpit, and walking off.

"What's got his nickers in a twist?", said Megan.

"Don't worry about Forge," said Cyclops. "He just has some baggage, is all. Many of us do..."

"Uh, right. Can't we just sit here in the air and let, let whoever we're supposed to be meeting come to us? Like you did with me?"

"It's not that simple," said Cyclops. "You were in a desperate situation with nowhere else to go. Not so with our new mutant here, unless something's changed in the last half hour."

"So, what, are we just gonna' sit down and have a chat with whoever we're supposed to be meeting? It would sound a wee too simple if it were."

"Maybe, said Cyclops, "but mostly, we want to get a good look at our new potential recruit, and then, well, I suppose we'll just have to go from there.

* * *

"Where shall we go from here?"

Hank McCoy was, to be honest, just a trifled confused. Oh, he had been to the mansion on occasion – he had even recently started teaching a class – but he still had yet to become truly accustomed to the trappings – at once both homely, spacious, and a potential treasure trove of fascinating research – of the Xavier Estate. Most did not pay much attention to the home of Xavier, but to a honed mind such as his, it was one of the more interesting locals in New York. There were even stories of an old ancestor of Charles that was buried alive on the estate, due to a tragic case of forbidden love. Under normal circumstances, he'd be rather skeptical, but since Charles – a most excellent fellow, by all accounts, was, like himself, both a mutant and rather unlike himself by comparison a rather powerful one at that - there was certainly the possibly for just about anything within the Xaiver family tree. Why, perhaps he even possessed a secret twin sister; one that no-one had ever known about until now...

Upon further introspection, that sounded less like a possibly actuality, and more like a bad comicbook plot.

_Does it now, McCoy?_

McCoy flipped himself to face his other side, landing perfectly upon his large, simian hands and feet. McCoy himself actually bore more than a passing resemblance to a large, hairless ape in cackies and a sweater – a fact that McCoy didn't much like to think about – but he was still able to pass quite adequately for a human, albeit a... somewhat abnormal one. He honestly wasn't quite sure what to think about that...

"Charles," said McCoy, bringing himself back up and smiling as he pushed his large, round glasses up the bridge of his noise. "You always do manage to retain the art of surprise, despite that one should be able to hear such a contraption as yours from the corner of the hall..."

Rolling towards McCoy was the man responsible for the very organization that both he and this man were a part of. In fact, this old man was the, for all intents and purposes, the head of all those who worked for the Xaiver Institute – himself included – as well as those who were a member of the newly-blooming X-Men. The man in question was a tall, lean man with a head so bald, you almost swore you could blind somebody with it at the right angle. He was dressed in fine clothes, but not too fine; a nice, plain business suit. But perhaps most striking of all were his legs. Or rather, lack thereof. Of course, it was not as if he didn't posses legs; quite the contrary. But considering he could no longer use them in virtually any capacity, he might as well have lost them. Such a powerful thought that even one such as Xaiver, who one would think would be crippled by unrelenting despair, would instead grow to become the leader of a movement the likes of which had little precedent before in the world, and even be one of the most powerful living beings on the face of the planet. A face that actually slightly scared McCoy. Could so much power truly be justly governed through one man? He supposed that's just what he'd have to find out.

"I have always believed – or used to, at least," said Xaiver, "that one of the most important facets of any life is the art of discretion. Of course, that was... a long time ago..."

"I'm not exactly sure if I would have liked to meet the you from 'a long time ago," said Hank. "From the sound of it, you weren't exactly a most open gentleman..."

"A fact I have long wished to correct," said Xaiver. "...You realize that you're standing directly in front of the elevator, don't you?"

"Hm?" Hank turned to his backside, and sure enough, right behind him... "You always do seem to have a most envious sense of clarity, Charles."

Charles held out his hand, and motioned it towards the elevator. "Shall we?"

Cheeky old bastard. Still, it was part of his charm. Beast pressed a button on the elevator, and soon enough, it opened straight up. However, there was something peculiar about it. Almost as if...

"Charles, did you send Bobby off on another errand again? Because, I dare say by my stars and garters, it seems to be awfully cold in here. Almost makes me wish I had a fur coat..."

"Always so observant," said Charles, as they walked into the elevator.

"'Observant'?," said McCoy. If you mean, 'obvious enough to shoot a bullet at it blindfolded with your back turned and still hit the target,' you're on the ball."

"Indeed." As the elevator's doors closed, Charles pressed a button labeled 'XB' – 'X-Men Basement', perhaps – and it began it's steady descent to it's destination. Hank had always marveled at the machinery and technology within what you would think would just be a run-of-the-mill mansion for the rich. That this elevator was capable of achieving such subterranean levels while doing so at record speed and with nary a sound was, in all aspects-

"Extraordinary?", said Charles.

"I must remember to better conceal my thoughts around such an esteemed 'gentleman' as yourself, Charles," said Hank. Otherwise, if we were to ever play a poker match together, the game would be over with most quickly."

"You play poker, McCoy?"

"Dabbled in it, on occasion. One never knows what they may or may not enjoy it if they do not try it. I'm still attempting to wipe the atrocity concerning the sparkling, pretty-boy vampire and his vapid, manipulative mistress from my brain. ...What exactly did you send Bobby on, if I may ask?"

"Oh, just a bit of scouting mission," said Xaiver. "I managed to locate another new mutant –_ homo mutanis_, of course – just the other day. Cerebro is truly turning out to be quite the marvel..."

"Ah, yes," said Hank. Cerebro. A device somehow capable of boosting a telepath's capabilities to search for anyone at any time on the face of the planet. Hank had always had particular qualms about it's use – a device such as this would make the current issues of governmental spying and lack of private security look trivial by comparison – but in the last few years that he had known Xaiver, he had proven to be a good, honorable man that Hank felt he could trust. And it did help new mutants like themselves who otherwise might not be able to get the proper help they would possibly need. Not that homo mutanis or 'homo superior' – God how he hated the term – were the only mutants they ever helped; after all, most of the school's population consisted of such mutants that didn't have the blessing – or, from a certain perspective, the curse – of particular powers or ability beyond what existed within their physical makeup.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," said Charles. "I also sent Guy in with him."

"'Guy?' You don't mean Guy Smith, do you? Isn't he the-"

"Yes, yes, McCoy. I recognize your concerns, and I share them. But Guy, he has been wanting to do something, shall we say, more for some time now, and, considering where he used to be, he has shown considerable growth. Perhaps actually doing something 'more' could help to further improve his condition."

"Perhaps." Guy Smith, as McCoy had come to understand it, was a most exquisite example of the horrors that some mutants had to face from their fellow man, or in this case, their own kin. He was also something of a rare genetic abnormality. Unlike most mutants, Guy's abilities manifested at an early; by the time he was 5, his unique bumps had already began to manifest upon his skin, and his attena had already begun to grow. His parents did what you would expect any loving, caring couple to do; burn their house down with the babe still inside, and leave him to die within the flames. If it hadn't been for a nearby firetruck that had already dealt with another fire just a few blocks down, it was in all likelihood that would not be with the Xaiver Institute today.

"You do know," continued Hank, "that he used to put a gun to his head every single day, in the hopes of ending his suffering and being done with it? Russian Roullete."

"Yes, I know," said Charles. "It is a sorrid fact that I have struggled to help Guy to end for years. He still does it, but-"

"Then why-"

"Let me finish," said Charles. "He still puts the gun to his head, yes, but he no longer does so loaded. He loads the gun with just one blank."

"...Well," said Hank, "that, at least, is better than the alternative..."

"Indeed," said Charles. "And he's still wearing the suit you and Forge developed for him that regulates his sensitivity."

"Regulates to an extent, but not fully," said Hank. "We were never quite able to get it just right..."

"You got it as right as you could," said Xaiver. "And now, this young man has a fighting chance at a normal life. Well, as normal as he can ever get. As all of us can ever get. Ah, that reminds me. Hank."

"Yes?"

"If you don't mind me asking, how are you and Trish? Is your relationship still going well?"

"Well, if you must ask..."

"No, I do not 'must'," said Charles, "but I would still like to know."

"Well, it's, it's going as well as could be expected..." Trish. Who would have thought that an investigative reporter and a strapping mutant such as himself could ever hitch it off? And yet...

"Does she know about-"

"No," said Hank curtly. "No, she does not."

"Well, I suppose still some of us are still prone to keeping secrets..."

"It's-," Hank started to say, before the elevator doors opened up, revealing the 'X-Men's Basement' below the mansion. It was practically filled with long, outreaching, metallic halls and doors, with many various rooms. One could wonder just how anyone was sure of just where they were supposed to go and how they were supposed to get there. Thankfully, having a telepath tended to come in handy; just lock onto someone that's already where you're supposed to go, and there you were.

"Look, Charles," said Hank, as they started to walk out of the elevator. " I've been meaning to tell her – perhaps she's even figured it out-"

"If she did,' said Charles, "you'd think she'd have told you..."

"I don't know," said Hank. Look Charles. I am... I usually do not tend to think of myself as a secretive man; a man who hides his problems rather then opening up about them. But this..."

But by now, the two were at the round, circular metallic door to the medical area.

"...This will have to wait," said McCoy. He pressed upon a small, circular panel next to the door, and just like that, it parted in four separate pieces, almost instantly sliding back into the surrounding wall. Within the now revealed room were several beds, medical tables, tubes, syringes, supplies; everything you'd expect to see in a hospital room. McCoy and Hank walked over to one of the tables, where, standing in front of it, was a black woman. She was just a few years older than McCoy himself – he in his late 20's, her seemingly in her early 30's – and, dressed in a white medical coat over casual gear, seemed to be sticking a popsicle stick under the tongue of a patient; a young woman with cropped red hair and blue skin. Sitting up on the table, she didn't appear to be in the best of shape – her breathing was slightly heavy, her hair was mussed beyond belief, and there were deep bags under her eyes – and yet, compared to when Hank had saw her last, she was still better off than she was.

Edie Sawyer. As far as Hank knew, she had once been a young mutant who had tried to do something... 'more' with her select role in the universe. Rather than be hated and feared, she had tried to be adored and loved, playing up her unique color scheme and her feats of teleportation almost as if it were all part of a show. But it was far from a show, as audiences soon caught on. After that, well, he was missing a few pieces in the puzzle, but suffice to say, her career turned downhill not long after that. But judging by how she appeared when he first saw her, he had the sneaking suspicion that her fall in fame wasn't entirely the fault of the people. She was a completely nervous, broken down, drug-addled wreck; how she appeared today seemed tame by comparison. Now however, she seemed to making a slow, but steady recovery. Which itself could present a problem, depending on just when Charles wished to start testing her abilities...

"Greetings," said the doctor. Ah yes, Cecelia Reyes. A rather admirable woman, from what he knew of her. She was a surgeon of respectable renown, though like all surgeons, she was unable to save all of her patients; a fact that did not sit well with the husband of such a patient. Accosting her right outside the hospital, she tried to explain the situation. He wouldn't listen; instead, he whipped out his trust rifle, and shot her in the back. If it hadn't been for her powers kicking in when they did – a force-field of sorts – she would not be alive to tell the tale. And sadly, one thing led to another. The attack was all over the news, including her sudden manifestation of her abilities. It was more likely that this merely the first time they have ever been publicly used, but that did not matter to the media, or to her employers. It eventually became clear to her that she was no longer exactly welcome at her old position anymore. Oh, she could still work if she wanted to, but she would always have to do so with the knowledge that her patients, her co-workers, might never look at her the same way again. And then Charles came in with a better offer and, after just a touch of protestation, she took the job. And now, she was the Institute's Chief of Medical Staff. And she was quite the woman. Why, thought McCoy, it it hadn't been for Trish...

"Kind of in the middle here, McCoy." Reyes took the stick out of Edie's tounge, and began pointing a small flashlight at her eyes. "Hm... Edie, I thought I told you to stay of the drugs."

"And I have!", said Edie, trying her best to smile as innocuously as possible, but instead ending up looking like she just received 100 dollars for a quick and dirty blowjob.

"You know, Edie," said Charles, "you might want to conceal your surface thoughts more carefully in the future. And you might also wish to be a tad more honest."

"Edie," said Cecelia.

"Look, I had just one little pill, just one, since we last met. I even cut the damn thing in half! If that isn't progress, I don't know what is!"

"Look Edie," said Cecelia. "I know we've made a lot of progress since you first came, and I know you think you're trying the best you can."

"But I am!"

"No, honey; sorry, but you got over your withdrawal just a few weeks ago. Now you wanna' risk goin' through all of that again?"

"No, but-"

"Then-"

"Look! My career's already down the tubes, THIS I know, I'm trying my GODDAMNED BEST, the least you could do is, I don't know, just indulge me every once in a while! Just a bit, huh? C'MON!"

"Not how that works, Edie."

"Ahem... Cecelia," said Charles, "if we could. 'speak' for a moment..."

"'Speak?' With you, that always mean somethin' a bit different..." And so, while Beast could not 'hear' the telepathic exchange that was to take place between Cecelia and Xaiver, he would nonetheless hear an eventual account from Cecelia herself.

_This better be quick, __though Cecelia. __Still got a patient I gotta' take of, if it's all the same to you._

_Actually, it is precisely about your 'patient' of which I must speak-_

_Oh no_ _you don't. Look, I know you got high hopes for her, but the girl's not ready to go porting anything or any_ where_ at the moment; she's still got a _long _road before she makes anything close to a full recovery._

_I understand that, and I appreciate your concerns. But, just recently... I sensed-_

_Sensed what?_

_Mutants. Specifically, 'homo superior', as they tend to call it._

_Never my favorite word, I can tell you that much._

_Yes. Nonetheless, I still sensed them, as I went through my routine checkup on Cerebro. Moreover, they are not exactly 'new', persay. Cerebero is still being perfected, after alll; it would make sense that some mutants that it was not able to detect before are only now appearing on it's rader, with perhaps more to come._

_And let me guess; you want Eddie to port over to these 'new' mutants? Pick 'em up?_

_Yes. I _would _simply use one of the blackbirds, but they are otherwise preoccupied; the X-Men are using them to find a few other 'new' mutants as we think. But, there is still one which I am... most peculiar about. This mutant, I believe, deserves my utmost attention, and I intend to give her it._

_'Her?' This is a _she _we're talkin' bout?_

_I believe so..._

_...Look, I know this is real damn important to you, I'm sure it is, but I took the Hippocratic oath. I'm not about to endanger my patient just because you want to add another chip to the pile._

_. I make no pretensions about myself, and would be a fool to pretend I was a saint; this I learned many years ago. I completely understand your concern for , and I in fact commend it. And I would be perfectly, completely fine with simply waiting for the next available jet, or perhaps even contacting the X-men with Cerebro and having _them _pick her up, if this were not of the most dire importance._

_I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me, Charles..._

_Indeed. Imagine, if you will, a mutant completely and utterly devoid of compassion, of empathy, who would stop at nothing to put all he sees his under his heel; in some cases, even literally. A mutant who treats woman as nothing more than pets, playthings to use and abuse, and who uses men as no more than tools. A mutant who has the same telepathic abilities as I, and absolutely no restraint in using them. What does that tell you, ?_

_...Tells me you're either damn desperate to get this new mutant, or you're telling the truth. I'm thinkin' you must be. You _could've _just brainwashed me and took Edie wherever you the hell you wanted to go..._

_...If you put it that way. But you know I would never do such a thing..._

_I believe you. You still could've washed me when it seems things weren't going your way. But – far as I know – you didn't. ...So, you gotta' get there soon as possible, don't you?_

_Yes, I do. I would not be asking-_

_We've already gone over this Charles. So here's what we're gonna do. If it's that big a deal, I'll let you take Edie. But on one condition._

_You want to come along._

_You got it. I'm not just gonna' leave my patient to do whatever in... hey, where are we goin' anyhow?_

_The Serengeti Plains. Africa. _

_Uh-huh. Never figured I'd actually set foot there; kind of ironic, when you think about it. So, do we need to go-_

_As soon as possible, yes._

_...Right. Well, if this is gonna' get a bit messy, I guess I'd better go get my uniform. Never thought I'd actually have to use it..._

_Yes. I _am_ sorry about this-_

_Cut it. ...You knew I was gonna' come along, didn't you?_

_Did I? But rest assured, I did not edit your thoughts in any way._

_I know you didn't. That ain't what concerns me. ...Let's get movin'. Got a new mutant to recruit, and maybe another to bash. And Professor; I still get the feeling there's something you aren't telling me. You seem to know this new mutant – the telepath – pretty damn well..._

_That would be because I do._

* * *

_Halfway to Russia. It's a fast plane. No turbulence. Surprising. ...The water; I can't touch it from here, but somehow, I can still 'feel' it; refreshing, moist... cold. Almost as cold as-_

"Hey!", yelled Bobby at Guy. "You gonna' keep spacing out, or you gonna' get with the program?"

"Lad has a point, boy'o," said Sean from the pilot's seat. "If somethin' goes wrong, you'd be no use to us in the field as ye are. Somethin' troublin' ye?"

Sean Cassidy. Banshee. He was old. Experienced. Irish. Very, very Irish. "If something does happen, I will be able to handle it," said Guy. "But, no. No, nothing is..." He stopped before saying it again. "Nothing is-"

"Nothing's what? said Bobby.

Bobby Drake. Iceman. He was young. Inexperienced. Very, very annoying.

"Hey," said Bobby, "is this about your parents trying to kill you when you were five? Can still hardly believe it..."

Guy raised his head; his eyes started to mist up. He looked long and hard at Bobby, never giving an inch, until finally relenting, and turning back away.

"So, you were serious, huh?", said Bobby.

"I'm always serious," said Guy.

"Right. Well, uh," Bobby scratched the back of his head in a frenzy, as he attempted to think of a way to smooth the situation over. "You ever seen Life of Brian? '_Always look on the bright side of life! Always look on the light side of life!_' Uh, how did the rest of the song go? Let's see here... '_So always look on the bright side of death! Just before you draw your terminal_...' Um, sorry, dude. I can't believe I just went there."

"Leave the lad alone, Bobby," said Sean." God knows we all got our own problems to deal with; far as I can tell, he's got more'n most."

"I- yeah. Sorry about that, Guy. I guess."

"The both of you," said Guy, "the both of you; you don't need to worry about it. Really, you don't."

"I take back what I said," said Banshee. "For when someone says 'don't worry about it', either they really be just starvin' for attention, or there really do be somethin' ta' worry 'bout. But we can worry 'bout it later, lads; we be just about there."

As they continued to fly on, Guy could see the great Russian planes below them; grand, vast, tall, and wide. It almost made Guy want to move there. But he couldn't help but think back to his parents. To the fire. And the long years raised by an orphanage that never really wanted him to begin with, or that he could do nothing to help his... extraordinary sensitivity. Not until Xaiver found him. Took him in. Treated him like his own son; him and Cyclops. He always like Cyclops. Always found him interesting. He had grown to be a man who could control himself, but perhaps, grew to control himself too much. And as for Guy, in comparison, he might as well have been a man who couldn't always control himself enough. If it weren't for his suit...

He looked up at the ceiling. Black. Metal. Completely incapable of emotion. He almost wished he was the ceiling. Almost...

"Would you like your change?"

"What do you think, bub?"

'Bub.' Shouldn't have said that. Must have been a slip of the tongue. Hopefully, it wouldn't be noticed much, though he supposed a 5'2 runt beefed as hell, covered in body hair, and dressed from head to toe in blue jeans, a bomber jacket, and a cowboy hat was already damn noticeable as is. Still, he just couldn't resist. Nor could he resist picking up some raw fish&crab for a goddamned sushi dinner.

"Uh, well," said the cashier. "Okay then. Much obliged."

He flashed the cashier a grim look, before taking his change and doing his best not to storm out of there. He'd been trying to keep a low profile, but a fella' needed to eat, and a place to stay. He'd managed to find a job at 'Uncle Buck's Buck Huntin'!', since it turned out he was quite the natural when it came to buck, or dear, hunting, or any hunting at all, really. Not that he remembered. Or at least, he didn't how he became such an expert on the subject. In fact, he couldn't really remember much at all. Oh, he remembered some – bits and pieces; a memory here, a fragment there – but nothing that let him make some damn sense of himself. But he did know one thing for certain; he knew that he'd been like this ever since those... 'Weapon X'? Whoever they were, they'd kept him locked up like an animal in a cage; poked and prodded him; made him feel less than a man. And that's another thing he knew; he knew that he wanted nothing more but to be a man. He didn't know how, or why, but he knew. And yet, part of him just wanted to give in; give in to the hurt, the pain, the rage; a hurt and pain that he couldn't even remember if he tried. That is, aside from what Weapon X did to him. Funny, though; for all they'd done to him, all it took was one second with their figurative backs turned, and he was out of there! Wasn't quite sure how he did it, to be honest; all he knew was that one minute, he'd finally gotten an opening, and the next, he was across the Canadian border and on United States soil with so much blood on his claws. And that was another thing. Claws. Something most people didn't have, but then, he didn't seem to be 'most people.' He didn't care either way though; it felt 'right' to him, somehow.

He shoved all of that to the back of his brain. Time to be heading back home. Back to his goddamned apartment in the goddamned building in the goddamned part of town ought to have been condemned. Suited him just fine, in more ways then one. But most importantly, it gave him cover. He wasn't gonna' be treated like a damn dirty ape – and now he just remembered there was a movie called 'Planet of the Apes'; some of the hammiest acting he ever saw this side of Charleston Heston. Not that he really cared. But in any case, he didn't want to be locked up or treated like a damn lab rat ever again. And he wasn't going to be.

* * *

"Almost there," said Forge, back in the pilot's seat. "We'll pick our target up, then head on back to Xaiver's, 'less he needs up to do somethin' else first...

And as the Blackbird, still cloaked, landed near a set of trees, Megan wondered – aside from if she should just strip right now and fly off into the trees – just what was going to happen next...


	3. Chapter 3: It All Comes Together

X-Men Re-Evolved: Chapter 3

_Dull, dull, dull... possibly interesting... dull, dull, dull..._

At Charles Xavier's Institute for the Gifted, Tessa Sage, dressed in her standard leather uniform of black and leath, was busy sitting up straight in front of the central computer within the basement of the mansion. It was a rather large computer, with a screen standing at 20 'ft, and was capable of processing just about any piece of information that needed processing. So then, who better to safeguard it and manage it than one whose mind was, in many ways, a computer? The only problem, thought Tessa, was that such a job was rather, to put bluntly, dull. Her day consisted almost entirely of sitting in front of a computer and handling logistics, rather than doing anything productive with her time, such as... handling logistics. To be honest, the other thing she truly knew how to do well was something she would rather forget. Too much blood on her hands to go back to that. At least here, she could do something that did not involve mentally scarring her for life. Unfortunately, what she was currently doing still bored her right out of her skull, mostly because there was still nothing much to do. The field team was still adding to it's numbers, and the X-Men hadn't even begun what they claimed they were going to do. There simply weren't any interesting files or logistics to run through. And so, with no pressing business to attend to, all she had to keep herself busy was browsing the internet, which was mostly filled with either the most vapid or the most _insane _drivel she had ever laid eyes on. If it hadn't been for the Professor...

_Hold on now. _This _one actually looks moderately interesting..._

She had been browsing the hive of scum and villainy known as Youtube when a most peculiar video came across her sights; 'A Pressing Message to All Mutants and Humans.' This could either serve as an amusing way to pass the time, an insipid way to pass the time, or just perhaps...

She ultimately decided that it was better than what she _had _been doing, and so, with one finger twirling a loose strand from her black bun, she clicked on the proper link, and took a look. Within the video, there seemed to be a man. He was old, in his seventies at the least, but was clean-shaven, and rather well-built for his age. His location seemed to be dark and incredible hard to make out; not even Sage, with her impeccable processing and deduction could tell just where he was; not even the spotlight placed upon him helped matters. There was clearly more to this peculiar individual than what met the eye. He was dressed in a fine red suit, and wore an elegant bowler hat of the same color; the hat seemed to have a metallic, purple band around above the rim. His hair was as bright and silver as metal, and his smile was welcoming, but firm. His hands were placed neatly behind his back, but his legs were held close together. But perhaps most importantly of all, she could swore that his steely eyes were looking straight into her very soul. That is, if she ever did have a soul. If she had, either she never placed much value upon it, or she had lost it long ago...

"Greetings," said the man. "My name is Eric Lenshier. Perhaps a few have heard of me, but I would presume that most have not. I am a man whom, in essence, has experienced horrors of which one could scarcely imagine. But, no; that is not quite accurate, is it? We have done more than imagine them; we have lived them. I am sure that all of you remember, or at least are aware of, the Second World War? Perhaps you have family members or acquaintances that have experienced it in some way. I can safely say with experience that it was not a pleasant time for anyone involved. Anyone but perhaps those who caused it."

The calming smile then started to slowly disappear, as it became replaced with a cool grimace. "I know the horrors of that horrid war all too well. And so I also know the horrors of discrimination. 'Discrimination'. Quaint word, is it not? But yes, discrimination. People of color; people of homosexuality; and perhaps, most importantly of all in this day and age, people who are called 'mutants.' They are all discriminated against, hated and fear; called damning names and beaten, not for what they have done in this life, but merely because of the circumstances of their birth. And I am sure that many who still do not fall within that part of the gene pool still sympathize with others that have; you possess friends, perhaps even family, that have. And I am also sure that many of you have attempted to right these wrongs as best you can within peaceful means. But truly, how far will that get you? People of color, or homosexuals, or 'mutants' are still looked down upon by many, are they not? They still get accosted, perhaps even battered, by the police, your so-called 'protectors' ,on a regular basis, do they not? But furthermore, in a world where some governments freely spy upon their citizens, and continue to do so even when this knowledge has been made public, how can they be free? In a world where some governments consistently lie to their people about what goes into their food, about how safe whatever chemicals they are taking truly are, or about what or what not they can or cannot be be duly arrested for, how can any of us be free, or try to make ourselves free, against powers that have no intention of letting us be so?"

The man's, or 'Eric's', as he seemed to call himself, voice then started to increase in volume and intensity, but still possessed a firm, level sort of control. At the same time, a strange sight could be seen in front of the man. One by one, a paperclip seemed to appear upon the screen, until seven appeared. They were all arranged in a circle, almost as if hung up by string. "And so I say," he continued," we let ourselves be free. We get ourselves out into the world, we stress our point, we demand to be heard. But if that is not enough, then we make ourselves heard! Should we stand by and do nothing, while we are all so damned merely for existing? Should we be content to live in a world that does not even treat it's majority with proper respect and privacy?! I say, NO! NO WE SHOULD NOT! FOR TO LIVE IN SUCH A WORLD AND TO DO NOTHING ABOUT IT, NOTHING TO SAVE IT OR ITS' PEOPLE, WOULD BE NOTHING SHORT OF A TRAVESTY! OF DISREPECTING ALL THAT WE ALL HAVE GONE THROUGH! ALL THAT OUR PAST GENERATIONS HAVE GONE THROUGH! ALL THAT WE, AS A PEOPLE, ARE STILL GOING THROUGH! THE TIME FOR ACTION IS NOW!" The paperclips were spinning wildly now, almost like a wirey whirlwind of blinding steel.

The man than seemed to calm himself after a moment, before continuing on; the paperclips slowly dropped to the floor as well. "Now, some might ask, 'are you promoting lethal or violent actions then, as a means to deal with such a travesty, as you seem to see it?' And I would say, 'I would not personally advise for it, but neither would I condone it. After all, I do not engage in such acts myself, and thus cannot be held accountable either way.' But make no mistake; this world itself must be made accountable, and the only to do that is to stand together as one people, and make it so, as one united brotherhood." And with that, the video came to a close.

Well, things _were _getting interesting, weren't they? It seemed that, perhaps, the X-Men had waited a bit too long to make their move; someone else had made theirs first. But hold on; hadn't Xavier mentioned someone named...

_Oh dear._

She rushed over to the Medical Bay, as she was pretty sure that was where Xaiver was supposed to be just now, and opened the doors as fast as she could, only to find that no-one was there. Not even the patient. Edie must finally have been in a well enough mood to port. Or perhaps she was pressured to do so. But if that was the case, what could possibly take priority over this? Except that the professor probably didn't know about the return of his old 'friend' yet, did he? What to do...

She started to make her way back to the computer when she heard a somewhat familiar voice call out to her. "Sage? It is Sage, isn't it? Tessa Sage? Why in such a rush? Is something the matter?"

She turned around. Standing a few heads higher than her, it was Doctor Hank McCoy. A rather brilliant man, though she still made him look like a novice in some areas. Some, but not all. "Hank McCoy. Do you know where the Professor has gone?"

"The Professor?", said Hank "I just saw him off not minutes ago. He ported off with Edie and over to the African Savanah, I believe. A new member of _Homo Mutantis _popped up upon the board, as it were, and-"

"McCoy."

"You do know it is considered in some circles somewhat rude to interrupt, do you not?", said Hank.

"McCoy,", said Tessa, "I have two subjects of note that I feel I must relay to the Professor. One; a video I just witnessed of perhaps dire importance. And two: the reason the video is of dire importance. Tell me, McCoy; did the Professor ever mention to you of Eric Lenshier?"

At first, McCoy look at Tessa somewhat incredulously, but then his eyes started to widen as a memory from just two years ago bubbled to the surface. 'Tell me,' said the Professor on that day, 'have I ever told you about the time I met a most extraordinary individual? Eric Lenshier, I believe was his name...'

Without saying a word, Beast gallivanted over to the computer with Tessa in tow. He played the video again, and it was just the same as when Tessa saw it. And when it was done...

"Oh, my stars and garters."

"I trusted that the full realization of this video would dawn upon you," said Sage, as cold as ever. "It has now been approximately 45 minutes since it uploaded. Most people have likely yet to watch it, but by the end of the week, if not by the end of the day..."

"I suppose someone else managed to beat us to the first move," said Hank. "Once the Professor returns, we will need to find a way to counteract this, this abomination."

"'Abomination?'", asked Tessa.

"Yes, well," said Hank, "if I were to be honest, I suppose how some from a certain point of view could see this as-"

"As a call to arms," Tessa interrupted. "Lenshier is a rather charismatic fellow, and to many, he speaks the truth. He explains the situation like many have already thought it to be in the back of their minds, but that most have been unable to truly put into words, or perhaps too afraid to act upon such thoughts until someone made it all plain and clear to see."

"Tessa, you do not truly believe-"

"It does not matter what I believe," Tessa interrupted once more, "it matters what everyone else believes. No doubt our students will be watching this soon enough, if not watching it already."

"Indeed," replied Hank. And if we forbid or prevent them from doing so, by hiding this from them, we will no doubt be casting ourselves as an enemy similar to which this Lenshier is painting so vividly"

"Yes," said Tessa. "But I am 91.42% sure that we will be able to counter this message, or at least successfully present our own stance, if we do so soon. Preferably within the next day or so."

"Perhaps," said Hank. "But this does not change one simple and perhaps rather ominous fact."

"Yes," said Tessa. "We have competition."

And Hank replied, pushing back the rims of his glasses as he did so, with, "Precisely."

* * *

"We are not alone," said Charles.

The trio had just arrived in the vast plains of the Serengeti barley a moment after Edie had done not much more than think a thought that, to anyone else, would seem nothing more than an idle dream. 'Okay okay, wanna' go to the Serengeti, wanna' go to the Serengeti, really wanna' go to the Seren-', and there they were. However, while Charles had done his best to upload the precise location into Edie's former drug-addled noggin, the result was a tad less than on the mark. Or perhaps their target had merely moved. In either case, their new mutant, or at least one of them, was nowhere to be seen.. And yet, to a telepath, where could one truly hide?

"That so?", said Cecelia to Xaiver. She was dressed in her standard black&yellow X-Man uniform; a uniform that Xavier knew that Cecilia had hoped she would never have to use, and yet, part of her somehow knew that doing so at least once in her life would likely be inevitable. That was what you got when you put yourself in league with a group of rather dubious individuals that might as well have been torn straight out of a comic book. Then again, seeing as her force-field, just barely visible, was currently protecting her from the sheer heat and odd gusts of sand of the savannah, she likely wasn't one to talk.

"Huh," said Edie, now clad in her own uniform, which sported both a tanktop and a lack of leggings for good measure. "Hadn't done that in a while." A sly grin then came upon her lips. "Makes me wanna' do it again."

"And you shall, child," said Xaiver, "soon enough."

"'Child?'", said Edie, putting her hands upon her hips. "That's a new one. Almost makes one think you were tryin' to come onto me..."

"I assure you ch-" he stopped himself just in time. Best not to give her more ample cannon fodder. "I assure you, Edie, there was nothing of the sort. Now, if you would just let me concentrate..."

"What for?", said Edie, placing a hand upon her forehead as if she were giving a salute, and scanning the horizon with her blue eyes. "Doesn't really seem to be too much here, 'less you wanna' get friendly with the locals." Indeed, as Xavier noted, there were more than enough wildlife throughout the plains to give Hank a field day attempting to properly observe them all. Lions, boar, wildebeest; all manners of animals could be seen, though Xavier and the other were, at present, far enough away not to be properly noticed. And yet, the true catch was nowhere to be found. Until, at last-

"I have her," said Xaiver.

"Best watch where you say that sort of thing, Prof," said Edie, "'less you wanna' draw in the wrong crowds."

It was only several seconds after Edie had mouthed for what would otherwise be perhaps one too many times that, all at once, dark, colossal clouds began forming within the bright sky at a perhaps unnatural pace. Strong, gusting winds blew at Xavier, Edie, and Celcelia, just weak enough so as to not blow them all to Kingdom Come. Bolts of near-blinding lightning accompanied booming claps of thunder, and a torrential rain burst forth from above. Cecelia's forcefield was sufficient to protect her from the rain, but as for the others...

"OKAY!", snapped Edie. "IF THIS DON'T STOP, WE'RE ALL GOIN' BACK HOME! YA' HEAR ME?!"

"CHARLES," yelled Cecelia. "YOU WANNA' GET THIS MUTANT, YOU'D BETTER MAKE IT DAMN QUICK!"

Of course, Charles knew, Cecelia herself was fine, it was her patient she was truly worried about. Very commendable. But he knew the true cause of such unpredictable weather, though the fact that the area outside of their two hundred feet radius was rather bright and sunny was a rather noticeable clue for the observant. He did not move so much as a muscle; not even at the sight of who he knew to be who he had sought. Descending from the clouds as if floating down upon the winds, she was hard to make out at first within the drenching rains, but the more she descended, the more the clouds, winds and rain started to recede. Steadily, the rain began to slow before stopping completely, and the clouds started to dissipate, before retreating altogether. And in it's place was not only the most beautiful rainbow the world had quite possibly ever seen, but one of the most alluring young woman the Professor had set his eyes on, and perhaps one of the most grandeur. She was dressed in nothing but a loincloth around the waist, her top completely unprotected from the elements. Her skin was dark, but her hair was as white and billowing as the fairest cloud. And her eyes seemed like small lightning bolts from a distance, but when looked at closely, the iris' were shaped much like a cat's, and were as blue as the deepest ocean. At last, she landed, and she stood tall and proud, wondering just who these newcomers were, and what they sought. Now, the converasation to come would, in all likelihood, would have been most difficult, were it not for the fact that Charles had just 'installed' the entire English language within the woman's brain. Not that she was aware of this, of course...

"Who dares to face the Goddess of Nature?", said the woman.

"'Goddess'?", said Edie. "Hey, I've been called Goddess more times than I could care to count, but I've never taken any of that crap seriously."

"And neither does she," said Charles, "do you?" He sat still within his wheelchair, staring long and hard at the woman, almost as if sizing her up, until at last, she said, with not as much of the grandeur as she had just shown, "You are a most interesting fellow. Most ordinary men, and women too I suppose, would always bow their heads and prostrate themselves within my presence. It has actually become somewhat tiresome, to be perfectly honest." She then turned towards Edie. "'Goddess', you say? Is such a sacred term used in the outside world merely as a method of self-indulgence? If so, then that is truly pitiful.

"HEY!," yelled Edie, as she suddenly snapped. "Don't you be going pitying me!"

"I never said-"

"GODDAMN RIGHT YOU DID!", yelled Edie.

"EDIE!", yelled Cecelia.

Edie's head swiveled towards Cecelia, as she gave her a glare the likes of which Charles had only ever seen twice; the first, from his half-brother, and the second, from a man who he thought he was likely never to see again, even though a part of him truly wished to. "Don't you start! It's not my fault I got where I was! I was doing just fine, until-!" And at that, her rage started to subside, slowly but surely, like a raging storm slowly being brought to a calm. "I- I don't really know..." The most amazing part was that Charles himself had nothing to do with; she somehow managed to calm down all by herself. If that wasn't progress, he didn't know what was.

Xaiver could then hear more thoughts coming from Cecelia.

_Dammit, Charles! I told you she wasn't ready for this! She can port just fine, but-_

_But her mental state is obviously not the best. Yes, I can clearly see that now._

_Bull! You're a goddamned telepath! No way you didn't see how she was! No way you didn't see this coming._

_I had hoped that she was resilient enough to keep herself together enough on the field. Physically, she seems well enough, but I suppose now, she needs a great deal more therapy..._

_You knew Edie couldn't hack it. You knew, and you still brought her anyway. Just because you wanted a few more goddamn-!_

_CECELIA! Cecelia, I... I am sorry. It is true that, perhaps, I did expiate this mission sooner than I possibly needed to._

_Goddamn right you did._

_I know. And again, I truly am sorry. And I also realize that merely saying I am sorry will not make it up to you._

_You got that right._

_But Cecelia; as long as we are here-_

_Professor? Professor, this is Sage!_

Sage? That last thought was not like others; this, Charles knew. It was Sage; ever since he saved her, in more ways than one, so many years ago, she had felt forever indebted to him. Charles had never known quite how to feel about that. On the one hand, that meant she would be quite useful to him, but on the other, he did not like the thought of controlling another being, even if telepathy was involved. And yet, even though he did not like it, there was another part of him that wondered if he still, none the less, did it. A thought that he would rather keep locked up. But for now, he needed to remained focused.

_I am sorry, Cecelia; it seems we have another guest. I'll keep you tapped in for now. Yes, Sage?_

_Professor. I do not know exactly just what you are currently involved in, nor do I care. What I do know is- hold on. Actually, I do not think you even need to be here to see it. I can likely just upload my memories of the video into your mind. They should still be fresh._

_What video?_

_This one._

And in the space of a mere thought, Charles saw the video in its entirety, and it was then that he had realized; his best dream, and worst nightmare, had both converged into one frightening reality. On the one hand, he was delighted to finally see the man he had long considered a friend once again! On the other hand, it seemed that he had gone down a path that Xaiver feared he might, albeit in a most unusual way. That video; it might not have seemed like much now, but if it were given a few days to spread – he had to get back to the mansion. As soon as possible. And yet, he could not merely leave the other mutant he had sensed, the abomination he knew from long ago, alone, could he?

He turned to Storm. "I am sorry, my fair lady," he said, "but rather than steadily explaining this all to you as I had hoped, I am afraid I shall have to give you a crash-course."

"'Crash course?'", asked the woman. "What exactly do you-"

And then it hit her, like a ton of bricks. Humans. Mutants. Everyone in between. Xaiver's goals and aspirations. Those who he had gathered to his side. What they would plan to do. And of another who was poised to throw a wrench into everything that they were all getting ready to build.

"I..." She was reeling, holding her head as if it were about to burst open, as a small circle of wind briefly surrounded her.

"I am sorry," said Charles, "but I suppose that you now know that I am a telepath; a reader of minds, as it were. I completely understand if you feel that I violated you in any way."

"No," said the woman. "I know, unfortunately, what it is like to be truly violated, in more ways than one."

"That so?", said Edie. The fallen celebrity seemed to have calmed down, at least somewhat. All the better; Xaiver no longer had the time to be babysitting.

"Yes," said the woman. "And I can safely say that what you have done, sir, is nowhere near that. You had information you wished to show me, but no time in which to show it, so instead, you delivered it in the fastest way possible. Somewhat uncomfortable, to be sure, but I can understand the necessity."

"Again," said Charles, "I truly am sorry. But now you know what is at stake."

"Do I?", said the woman. "I am sure that your plight is most real, but you must understand; I have not set foot within what I suppose one would call 'civilization' in nearly a decade; the closest would be the small villages that give me worship, for you see, they think I truly am a Goddess." She chuckled a bit at that. "I give them rain to better grow their fields; regulate sunlight to better raise the crops; conceal myself from all others within in the clouds, aside from when I must come down. In fact, up until now, there were times I almost believed I truly was a Goddess."

"And yet," said Charles, "something held you back.

"Indeed," said the woman. "I do not wish to speak much of my childhood at present, but suffice to say, I had one. That much I remember, though I have been away from the wider world for so long that there is much I also do not remember."

"Then perhaps," said Charles, "it is time to explore that wider world once again."

"Perhaps," said the woman, "you are right. This life that I currently live; it gave me a most needed escape when I most needed it, but now; now, these days, I sometimes wonder if there is more to this life. More than living out my days within this idealic splendor."

"That all depends on you, honey," said Cecelia. "I really only joined up with this show 'cause I had nowhere else to go, but all the same, if you want to do something more with your life, to be something more, then these people are probably a better shot than most."

"Honestly," said Edie, "I'm just here to get off the meds, so I can try and go back to my old life. Honestly, I would _kill _to have what you've got goin' on right now. Um, not literally, of course. I mean look at it! You've got the best scenery at a total steal, not even a penny; you can grow your own food for free; and you have whole villages, a whole audience, that absolutely adores you." She then stopped for a moment, a thought occurring to her. "Actually, I guess we never asked; just how'd you wind up in this gig anyway?"

"She can tell us when she feels she is ready to, "said Xavier. "Now, my fair lady, you do have a few options available to you. You can stay here, and live out a relatively peaceful existence. Or you can come with me." He gazed into the woman's eyes, almost as if peering into her soul.

The woman stood in front of the others for what seemed like an eternity, her back turned to the billowing plains. Xavier could feel the conflict welling up inside her, even without looking extensively into her mind. And then...

"I am not a Goddess," she said. "I almost fooled myself into believing this to be so, but it is far from the truth. I wish to discover myself; who I truly I am. And I do not believe I can do that here. You have given me a greater perspective. The Serengeti is not the world; to me, it might as well be a closed box. I have been away from the world for far too long. Although, part of me adores this land, and it's people. It will be hard for me to leave. And yet..."

She once again faced Xavier, and smiled as she did so. "Xavier, is it? I recall 'remembering' that name from the 'crash-course' you gave me."

"Correct."

"Well then,", said the woman, "hear this: I, not the Goddess of Nature, but Ororo, accept your proposal. Or rather, I believe it is Ororo; it has been so long since I have used the name given to me at birth that I do not always remember it..."

Xaiver smiled back. "Pleased to meet you, Ororo."

"Okay," said Edie, "I totally think you're giving up a sweet deal here, but to each their own, I guess. But if you're gonna' be comin' with us, there's one thing, above all else, you really need to do."

"And that is?", asked Ororo.

"You gotta' put a goddamn shirt on!"

"I see no issue with baring what nature bore to me," said Ororo.

"Unfortunately," said Xaiver, "there would indeed be an issue While I am all for accepting various cultures and values, others, including at least one within our own number-"

"You talkin' bout me?", Edie interrupted.

"-feel somewhat differently. We also have certain laws against 'baring what nature bore to you'. That is not to say you must be clothed from head to toe, but..."

Ororo sighed, as if coming to a grudging acceptance. "Very well," she said, putting her hands to her hips. "I will do what I must. I do not like it, but I will still do it."

"You just take it easy for a while," said Cecelia. "Takes a while to get used to this outfit, in both senses of the word."

"I will take your word for it," said Ororo.

Well, thought Charles, it seemed that was that. Except it was not. The monster was still out there. And yet, he seemed to have moved on. Of course, it made sense. Discorporated as he was, he could easily move from body to body as he wished. In fact, he was strong enough that Xavier might not even had picked up the monster at all; he might instead have stumbled upon recent residue. In that case, Xavier would just have to let the matter rest for now; he had more pressing matters to attend to. Beside, if he were out there once again, that would mean that Xavier would likely not have to come to the monster; no.

The monster would come to him.

* * *

"I must say, Raven, this had better what we had hoped. Otherwise, I will be rather sorely put out."

Ah, Jason Wyndgarde. Always the complainer, thought Raven. He was sitting right beside her in the middle row of the _The Traveler's Theater _in Chicago; he in his trademark tan suit, and she in a simple yet elegant blue dress with red trimmings. Now, under ordinary circumstances, they would not set foot anywhere near such a run-down establishment unless they were dying for entertainment. Either that, or if they wanted to set an example. However, if they even thought of doing the latter, Eric would be rather... displeased. Not because he actually cared for humans in the slightest, but because doing so would impede his plans. She had to admit though, they were brilliant. Probably why she hadn't attempted to put a bullet in his skull already. That, and that such an attempt would likely end with the bullet lodged in her own brain instead of his. Pity. Still, that was not what was important just now. What was important was seeing if the news she had heard about one of the performers of today's performance was anything close to accurate. But if it was, well, she would have to see from from the audience's seat. And for a bonus, the security guard, with his disproportionate frame, would also possibly be of some interest. But no matter. The show was about to begin.

* * *

"Funny pair of glasses ya' got there, buddy."

'Funny', thought Scott. Anything but the story of his life. He and Jean had just changed into normal attire stored in a small suitcase in the back of the jet, including a snazzy pair of red shades, made their way through the theater's doors, purchased themselves some tickets, and almost arrived at the seating area when they found themselves approached by one of the security guards. A most curious fellow too. His legs, while muscular, were still relatively normal, but he couldn't say the same for his upper body; it was gargantuan in size and enormous with bulk. The guard was also completely bald, save for a tuft of white hair at the top of his head sticking out from under his cap, and he wore a pair of round, red shades over his eyes.

"I could say the same for you," said Scott. "Are those glasses normal for a Security Guard?

"Funny," said the guard. "Just seemed a bit odd, is all. Never know what someone might be hidin' where you least expect it."

"Really?" said Scott. "Because I have to say, you yourself seem a bit 'odd.'"

"Huh?" It took a moment for the guard to realize the full implications of the statement. When he did, he looked down at himself, his face lighting up with comprehension.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I get that a lot. But my pappy always said; 'Eat lots of beef for strong muscles and drink lots of milk for big bones! That'a boy! Now go stick the asparagus in the gutter before your mother comes in.'"

Jean chuckled at that. "You're not that bad, Mr..."

"Hey," said the Guard, "call me Guido. Hey, sorry about that, Mr..."

"Summers," said Scott.

"'Summers', huh?", said the Gaurd, scratching his head. "That your favorite season or somethin'? But hey, I can understand if you're bein' a bit cold. Well, not really, considerin' yer name, but still. To be honest, I like 'em. The shades, I mean." He then touched his own pair. "Gives ya' style, you know what I mean?"

"If I could," said Scott, looking away from Guido, "'I'd prefer not seeing in red over style."

"Well," the guard, "there's that too. But then, why don't you just take 'em off?"

"Guido," Jean interjected, "we're sorry, but we kind of need to-"

"Oh,", said Guido, "that's right. The show should be startin' up soon. You folks go right ahead. I hear the group performing today is one of a kind. Like yours truly!"

"I somehow doubt that," said Jean, as she hurried Cyclops into the seating area. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Guido. "Hey, you ever need any help, I'm right over here."

"Sure thing," said Jean, as she and Cyclops finally made their way into the seating area. She then whirled towards Scott. "Scott,", she whispered, "there was no need to be so rude."

"What did you want me to do, Jean," whispered Cyclops, "take my glasses off and-"

"Of course not," Jean interrupted. "I'd just appreciate if you used a bit more tact, is all! Like you usually do."

"I'm sure you would, said Cyclops. His glasses had always been a source of condemnation for him. No; it was his eyes that were condemning. Ever since he and his little brother; ever since he and Alex were pushed out of the plane, out of the burning, smoldering plane by their father; ever since his head landed on that rock; ever since the Orphanage; ever since the Professor...

"Scott?"

But enough of that. He couldn't allow himself proper reflection. He had to be a leader; someone the others could trust, could rely on. He had to be in control. And yet, if he could just let loose-!

"Scott?"

"Sorry Jean. Let's head in."

"Scott," said Jean, "for the hundredth time, I'm a telepath. I could feel something from you. Something that I'm not even sure you want to-"

"We're on a mission, Jean," said Scott. "I don't mean to be harsh, but please. Just let it be."

"Fine, Scott. But let me tell you now-"

Just then, the lights in the theater dimmed.

"Show's about to start," said Scott, in a hushed voice. "With any luck, whoever we're searching for will either be in the crowd, or perhaps among the performers..."

"Maybe the Security Guard?", whispered Jean, as they sat down."The guy was nice, but he wasn't exactly 'normal', in more ways than one. Of course, their 'not normal' is our 'normal', so..." But before Scott had a chance to reply, the show began. For the most part, it was normal, if entertaining fair for a performing troupe; almost like a circus at times. Scott honestly felt that part of his life had been a circus. As for the show, there were fire-eaters, dancers, singers, drummers, and more. But the most talented part of the act, and of most interest to Scott, was to be saved for last.

"And now," said the presenter, dressed like a ringleader, "presenting our last, but most fabulous act of all! A being of mystery and wonder, but also possessed of charm and class, no-one knows from where he hails; no-one knows whether he is man, or demon. But one thing is for certain; he sure knows how to put on a show! And now, ladies and gentlemen, the mysterious, the devilish, the roguish... NIGHTCRAWLER!"

The presenter then took a handful of powder from a satch upon his waist and threw it to the ground, as it seemed to explode in a flash into a small cloud of purple smoke, engulfing the performer like a fine mist. But the cloud was then overwhelmed by another flash and puff of smoke, as the lights upon the stage dimmed as well. And in the center of the new cloud was a pair of glowing, yellow, haunting eyes. Eyes that seemed to rival Cyclops own, in their way. What secrets could lay within them, he wondered? But then, whatever was within the cloud leaped into the air, and a spotlight trailed behind him. Flaming hoops, vaults, trapezes, and more were set up as the performer had been speaking, but the strange being traversed them with ease. And when Cyclops, his eyesight as keen as ever, even with the ever persistent red filter, finally got a good look at him, he knew that this was the one they were searching for. Some of the audience may have thought he was just a man in a suit or makeup, but Cyclops knew better. And if the audience wasn't do dazzled by the amazing feats being performed upon the stage, they might have known as well. He was dressed in a red&black spandex; his hands were covered by white gloves and his feet were covered within white footings. However, if the gloves and footings were anything to go by, this 'Nightcrawler' didn't seem to have a full five digits upon each hand or foot; instead, three thick, long digits could be seen upon each hand, and two even thicker and longer ones upon his feet. He also seemed to have a tail, much like a stereotypical devil's tail; long and prehensile with a pointed end. And his eyes were still as yellow as within the plume. But perhaps most damning of all was the thin layer of fur that Cyclops was sure covered 'Nightcrawler's' entire body. Despite all this, Nightcrawler didn't seem to mind his appearance. He leaped through the hoops and swung on the trapeze with the utmost glee. In fact, he seemed to be rather enjoying himself. If Nightcrawler was this content, then what right did Cyclops have to drag him from it? But at the same time, they needed who they could get. He supposed the least he could do was ask-

" YA' DAMN MUTIE!"

And of course, the inevitable had finally occurred. Scott's vision veered to whoever had just opened their big mouth. A fat, middle-aged man. Who would have thought?

"That ain't no guy in a costume!", said the man. "That's a fuckin' mutie!"

"Hey," said another from the crowed, "come to think of it..."

"So what if he's a mutant?", said another. "He put on a damn good show! That has to count for something!"

"I still think he's a guy in a mask..." said another.

"Pitiful isn't it?"

Cyclops turned, trying to look behind himself. Standing right next to Jean Grey was who he had just had just spoke; a blond-haired woman in a dress. Standing next to her was a man in a fine tan suit.

"I said, 'pitiful, isn't it'?"

Something about this woman, and his friend especially, wasn't quite right. Something about the way they acted, how they held themselves; it wasn't-

_Scott?_

_Jean?_

_Scott, whatever we're going to do, we might want do it fast._

_I know; the crowd might eat him alive at this-_

_No! No. Yes, we need to get him out of here, but, you've already noticed something off about the woman and her 'friend', right?_

_Yes, but-_

_The man's a telepath._

_What?!_

_Well, not exactly a telepath persay; I'm honestly not sure just what he is. But he has some sort of psyonic ability; this I know. I can sense him. As I'm sure he can sense me. Even if he can't read my mind, he can still 'sense' me. It's a two way street. And if the woman's with him; she might not be a telepath, but still..._

_Can you read anything off of him?_

_No. Whatever he has, it isn't telepathy. It's-_

"HEY!", cried another from the crowd. "He's gone!"

Scott must have thought the audience member was either delusional, or on some sort of drug. Nightcrawler was still there, right on the stage, and looking completely baffled as to just what was occurring .And yet, everyone in the theater started saying the same thing; to them, he was gone. Vanished from thin airThe other members of the troop came out as well to hear the commotion, and yet...

"Kurt?", said the presenter, looking around the theater for his missing performer. "Kurt? We have another show to do, you know. Where are you, boy?"

"What is this?", said Nightcrawler, or 'Kurt.' He spoke in a distinct Germanic accent, but he seemed to know English well enough. "Father? Father, I am right here." He disappeared into another puff of smoke, repeating in front of his father. "Father?" He then grabbed him, almost out of desperation from the look of it. "Father! Please, answer me!"

"AH!", said the Performer. "What do you want, you barbarian! Let me go! LET ME GO!"

"The father, or likely adoptive father in this case," said the man in the brown suit, "is currently seeing the most deranged, musclebound psychotic imaginable. Quite a sight, if I do say so."

"You're doing this," said Cyclops. "I don't know, or why, or why you're not letting us see it, but-"

"We're not letting the both of you see it," said the woman, "because we share a kinship, the four of us. All of us looked down upon by 'society', for one reason or another. And the guard is the same."

"Stop this," said Cyclops. "Stop this right now, or-"

"Or what?", said the woman. "You'll throw your sunglasses at me? All I'm doing is saving this poor young man from the fate he would no doubt endure if he were to stay here."

"He could have just teleported away!", said Cyclops.

"And teleported where?", said the woman. "Into the streets of a people even less receptive than those in here?"

"Maybe," said Scott, "but-"

"Hey hey HEY! What's goin' on in here?! Was we havin' a party and I wasn't invited, or what!?"

And coming onto the scene was the security guard, Guido, himself. And no-one except Scott, Jean, the man and the woman noticed him at all.

"Hey, guys?", said Guido. "People? C'mon people, this ain't no joke! What's goin' on?!"

"What's 'going on'," said the woman, "is that no-one can see or hear the performer on stage, or you. None but us fellow mutants."

Guido seemed a tad shocked. "'Fellow' mutants? Hey, I don't know what you're goin' on about lady, but I ain't no-"

"Save it", said the man. "You have a body that far exceeds your legs in body mass, and yet you are somehow able to stand. How can you be anything but a mutant?"

Gudio looked hard at the man and then at the woman for a moment, before easing up. "Ya' got me. Guilty as charged. But I think the real question is: who are all you's? And maybe there's actually somethin' to those glasses after all..."

Just then, a purple puff of smoke materialized among Cyclops and the others, revealing Nightcrawler within as it dissipated. "Who are you all?", he said, his fangs laid bare. "I know that you all can see me; I can tell. Normally, I am admittedly a rather pleasant fellow, but under these circumstances-"

"Please, boy," said the blonde-haired woman. "Really, it was for the best. Your family would surely reject you eventually, and-"

Nightcrawler then struck at the woman with a swift kick to the chin; she promptly stepped to the left, deftly evading the blow. "How would you know what and what not my family would do?!"

"I know more than you could imagine," said the woman. "But for now, let us say that I am simply a woman who has seen her fair share suffering on the account of humans, and-"

"But I am human as well!", shouted Nightcrawler, though no-one but those within the group could hear him. "I act human, I believe myself to be human! I am still human within the eyes of my lord, no matter how I look! How-"

"Wyngard," said the woman, "give the boy a taste of reality, will you?"

"Why not?", said Wyngard. And in less than a second, the father could see his son once more.

"Why, there you are my boy! How ever did you get all the way over there?"

Unfortunately, everyone else could see him too.

"THERE HE IS!", said a member of the audience. "Teleporting ain't enough; he must be able to, to make himself invisible! Yeah, that's it! And that ain't no costume!"

"But I LIKE mutants!", said another. "They're so COOL! Especially if they're cute'n'furry, like that one!"

"That's not even a mutant!", said another, wearing a cross around his neck. "It's, it's some kind of, of demon or something! What else could it be?!"

"Doesn't matter what it is," said another. "We gotta' get it 'fore it gets us!"

"Yeah," said another, "but where is 'it?' I could swear he was just there a second ago..."

"Same here," said another. "He's gone again!"

"That proves it!", said the audience member with the cross. "He CAN make himself invisible! He's a freakin' mutie! Let me tell you all somethin', if he ever reveals himself, he'll wish he stuck around in you-know-where!"

"Where are you, my boy?", said the Presenter. "Perhaps he teleported again when I wasn't looking..."

Nightcrawler pondered his current circumstances for a moment, putting a finger to his lip, before making his response.

"And what am I supposed to do about that, eh?", he said to the woman. "Do you wish me to fight back like a raving lunatic, is that it?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Raven. "Though not like a lunatic, no. Boy, I have lived for quite some time, even if I don't look the part. I've seen the atrocities that humans commit on other humans, and it's only worse for mutants."

"You keep using that word," said Nightcrawler. "As far I am concerned, such a word would only serve to put us into categories; to not only make other humans separate people like myself from them, but to cause people like to separate us from humans by means of labels. 'Mutant?' And what does constantly using that word accomplish? I would imagine, not much, unless one wanted to inspire fear and distrust. And how could I trust someone who wishes to spread fear and distrust?"

"I feel the same," said Jean. "But unfortunately, there isn't much we can do about that."

"Actually, Nightcrawler" said Cyclops, "there is one thing."

"Which is?", asked Nightcrawler.

"We stand up for ourselves," said Cyclops. "Make our presence known. Force ourselves to be heard, but never using violence; not unless humans or mutants alike are threatened by some force that most human's just can't handle that well, when compared to us. When there's other choice to protect innocents but to fight. And maybe one day, that can all lead to the best outcome possible."

"And that is?", asked Kurt, one eyebrow raised, as if he were a customer who almost already made up his mind listening to a salesman trying and failing to sell his product.

"Peace.

"Nonsense," said Raven. "Mutants will forever be treated by humans as spectacle at best, and abominations at worse. If we hope to have a chance of survival, we must force humans to either accept us, or pay fealty to us, by whatever means necessary."

"'Whatever means necessary;?", said Nightcrawler. "I hope that does not mean the taking of another life. That is not something I could reasonably condone."

"Me neither," said Guido. "Otherwise, I'd lose my darn job!"

"Sometimes," said Raven, "you must make sacrifices for the greater goal."

"I don't feel the same," said Cyclops. "You start murdering people, then they'll really start taking it out on mutants everywhere, on all of us. But I think, in the end, whatever Nightcrawler here does should be up to him."

"_Danke," _said Nightcrawler. "That means 'thank you.' Much of this is new to me, but honestly, I would prefer to just continue to travel with my troupe. With my father. And yet... and yet, what you say – the man with the red glasses, not the insane blond woman – has much truth in it. If people like myself are being mistreated so, then it is a world I could scarcely imagine. And yet, it is all too real. I have spent far too much time hoping the situation would change itself; as much as it pains me, it might be best to take a leave of absence from my troupe. I cannot simply stand by and do nothing now. Merely waiting for the situation to change itself seems to be but a fading dream at best, as sad as that is to say."

"Hey," said Guido," hasn't this sort of thing happened to you before? You'd think you'd have been through this sort of shtick a hundred times by now."

"No so," said Nightcrawler. "We operated for the longest time out of middle Europe. Most thought I was simply a man in the mask. It was largely the same for our first few performances within this country, but I would be lying if I did not notice few a distrustful glances or so. And things slowly but steadily became worse as the tour continued..."

"Yeesh. Sorry man. Yes, I guess I got off a bit lucky compared to some. Doesn't change the fact I still look like some sort of strong man, or strong guy; might as well just run off an' join the circus."

"Actually," said Nightcrawler, smiling, "my troupe may soon have a vacant spot available. Perhaps – hm? Does anyone see the woman and her companion about?"

Cyclops looked around, scanning the area. Raven and Wyndarge were nowhere to be seen. He initially wondered just how they could have vanished out of sight so easily. And then it hit him.

"Scott," said Jean, "they must have-"

"I know Jean," said Scott. "Must have used those damn illusions. Come on; the crowed is bound to notice us sooner or later..."

And so, they all made their way out of the the theater, receiving the occasional cries of 'DEMON', 'MUTIE!', and 'COOL!' before they finally made it out and onto the sidewalk. "So," said Cyclops, "what do you plan to do?"

"I think," said Nightcrawler, "I shall give you folks a try. If I do not like it, I can leave whenever I wish yes?"

"Of course," said Scott.

"Then it is settled. Kurt Wagner, at your service", said Nightcrawler with a bow. "Or at least for the time being."

That took care of Kurt, thought Scott. Now for the big guy. Unlike Kurt, Guido here could pass decently enough for a human, but Scott could honestly use all of the help he could get. First things first though.

"Jean?", said Scott. "Can you sense those two anywhere nearby?"

"Sad to say," said Jean, "but no. The abilities that let me 'sniff' the man out, so to speak, also give him a telepathic protection past a certain radius. And for whatever reason, I can't get a real handle on the woman; it's like her mind's a jumbled mess; might even be like a labyrinth at this point, I can't be sure. I'm guessing they left when it seemed like things might not have been going their way. They didn't want a fight just yet, I guess."

"Right," said Cyclops. "Now," he continued, turning towards Guido, "you've heard what we had to say. What do you think about all of this?"

"What do I think?", said Guido. "I think I might be fired if I don't get back in the joint and do my job. Still, if ya' really want to know; I guess I agree by and large what what ya' say, but a body's gotta' pay the bills."

"Right," said Scott. So, he agreed with their ideals, but he needed a roof over his head. Simple enough. "Guido, what if I said I could find you a place with some of the best food and board you could ever have in New York, short of being among the filth rich?"

"Well," said Guido, "considering I don't wanna' be filthy rich, just rich, I'd either say ya' got an offer I can't refuse," said Guido," or ya' got an offer I can't refuse. 'Course, it'd be nice if I could get some decent stratch, ya' know? Used to live in a big fancy mansion; lived the good life. And then my employer just up and vanished one day. Left without a trace, like Elvis and the aliens. I couldn't find anything close to what she payed since. Had to sell the ol' place, and even that didn't last. Come to think of it, I ain't exactly thrifty..."

"Tell you what," said Cyclops. "We'll give you the same treatment as Kurt here. A trial run, basically. How does that suit you?"

"Tell me somethin' first," said Guido. "Just whaddya' you guys do, anyway?

_Scott?_

_Jean?_

_Scott, I'm picking up... something from Gudio here. He's- oh. Oh my God._

_Jean?_

_I guess I just wasn't paying enough attention, but, oh Scott._

_Jean, did you-_

_No, I didn't read his mind, but I could still pick it up._

_Pick what up?_

_Scott, this man, Guido; he's in so much agony, so much pain. Every waking second of his life. It's a wonder he gets any sleep at night._

_What kind of pain, Jean? Mental, physical-_

_Both._

_Oh. Well, he could have fooled me. The way he goes on, it's like he doesn't have a care in the world._

_Yeah. I think it's his way to cope._

'His way to cope', thought Scott? Funny. Scott knew himself well enough to know his limitations. He never coped. Not really. Oh, ever since the Professor, he always had managed to deal with it, but he'd be lying if he said that he could act as if he didn't have a care in the world. This guy, on the other hand; not so much. How he envied him for it. And yet, being in that much pain, and not showing any of it? And yet, he did show it. Like himself, Gudio wore a pair of red shades over his eyes; perhaps he did had something to hide.

"What do we do?", said Scott to Gudio. "Right now, we find new mutants, mutants like us, and we give them a chance at membership, like we're doing now. If someone accepts, then we teach them how to make the most of whatever abilities they may have, or just how to live with themselves."

"Live with themselves?" said Guido. "You some kinda' suicide-prevention agency?"

"Not really," said Cyclops, "no. "

"Can't take a joke, can ya'?", said Guido.

"Not my job," said Cyclops. "But yes; if a mutant just can't cope by themselves, we help them course, we also save other mutants, or even humans, from harms' way if necessary. We also plan to get out thereand make our voices heard; we-"

"I'm in."

That was quick. "Are you?"

"A trial run, huh?", said Guido. "So, what; is it like, you dress up as a judge and I dress up as a suspect and you chase me around with a gavel until I make a choice either way?"

"Actually," said Kurt, "that sounds somewhat like fun! Strange and perhaps unnatural, but fun."

"Hey," said Guido, "we're all unnatural. I figured that somethin' like I just said is a day in the office, all things considered."

"Alright people," said Scott. "We've got a few people waiting for us back on the blackbird, and we also don't want to wait here for a potential mob. Let's move!" And with that, Cyclops and Jean ran off for the blackbird, expecting Kurt and Guido to follow.

"So then," Kurt asked Gudio while they ran, "why exactly did you choose to come along, if I may ask?"

"Didn't ya' hear what the man said?", said Guido, sporting a grin as toothy as a crocodile. "Free food! Who can pass on that?"

"Somehow," said Kurt, "I suspect there is more to this matter than mere bodily substance. But I suppose we can save this for when we are safe and sound at our humble abode, wherever that may be."

"Sounds good to me," said Guido. "I just hope it isn't in some small little hamlet in the middle of nowhere. Like somewhere in Beligum. Or ike Bruges. Fucking Bruges!"

"You do not like Brughes?", said Kurt. "Personally, I believe it is a most wonderful, enchanting place; almost like a fairy tale."

"Hey," said Guido, "if I wanna' be enchanted, I'll go see Beauty and the Beast. Gets me every time."

"Yes," said Kurt, "it is one of my favorite films as well. That, and anything by Errol Flynn."

"Fancy takin' a stab at some good ol' swashbucklin'?", said Guido.

"My dear sir," said Kurt, with a devilish grin, "if you remember one thing about me, it is this. I am, and always have been, a swashbuckler." He then teleported ahead in a blast of smoke, leaving Strong Guy quite literally in the dust.

"Well,", said Guido, "I've always been a fan of the classics..."

* * *

"I am sorry," said the young Russian man, "but I do not have a problem. I must ask you once more; please go."

"Are ye sure that's what ye want, boy'o?" This was quite the predicament, thought Sean. Apparently, Cebero was more precise than he ever gave it credit for. It managed to track down whom they presumed to be mutants all the way to the middle of the Russian countryside. Quite a feat. It was certainly far more than what could have been accomplished just a decade or so ago. As for the young man himself, he was tall, muscular, and Russian. Very, very Russian. He was dressed in nothing but brown cloth pants, brown leather shoes, and a white undershirt. And yet, Banshee could tell just by looking into hisdeep blue eyes; here was a soul that never wished to so much as harm a fly. He also didn't seem to be very materialistic; his small house contained nothing but the essentials. A chair here, a bed there, a small kitchen, some plates; there wasn't much other than what was needed. They were all standing in the middle of the living room, while a young teenage girl with long blonde hair– his daughter, perhaps- stood beside him, folding her arms as if in defense. As for Bobby, he was waiting right outside the door. Sean wouldn't be surprised if Bobby had dozed off on account of being bored out of his blessed skull. Pity that; the Russian countryside was quite lovely this time of year...

"Yes, that is what I want. Please, go," said the young man.

"Lad," said Sean, "somethin' be troublin' ye, obviously. Trust me: I've helped and 'dealt with' many different people in the past. Now, why don't ye tell me just what it is that's troubling you? Perhaps I can help."

"I am sorry," said the Russian, "but there is nothing that I need 'help' with. I do not even know who you are. And one of you is wearing a trenchoat and fedora. I have never trusted men in trenchcoats and fedoras..."

Ah yes; Guy Smith. A poor wee lad he was, having to wear a strange suit just to cope with everyday life. However, in order to avoid drawing unwanted attention, they had to resort to a means that was arguably just as worthy of attention. Alright, perhaps not as worthy, but still rather notable.

"You're hiding something," said Guy.

"Guy-" Sean tried to stop him, but the lad couldn't seem but help to go on. "Your pulse is beating at a highly accelerated rate. You've steadily been blinking less and less, and almost never make eye contact. When talking about your problem, or lack of thereof, your sentences are short and incredibly evasive. Your expressions have been limited only to mouth movements. Most of your sentences only repeat what someone else has already spoken, and when you had a chance to switch the topic to my clothing, you took it quite eagerly-"

"Guy," Sean interjected. To be true, Sean had noticed some of these telling observations himself. Some, but not all. For Sean, it was just a few tricks he learned from his days in interpol. For Guy, Sean supposed that his particular talents were both a curse, and perhaps a blessing. However, he had been hoping to avoid pressing the situation until a tad later, though now he supposed he might as well just get on with it. "Boyo, sorry to say, but my friend is particularly gifted, though I suppose you could say that, in a way, he's also cursed. Could still make a fortune as a livin' lie detector someday. Now, c'mon. We're here, we're willin' to listen, and so ye might as well just open up."

"There is nothing to 'open up'!" The Russian quickly rose up from his char, looking Sean straight in the eye. At least the lad had some gumption, that was for certain. Though he wondered if he would be so defensive if the lass wasn't standing right by his side.

"Peter," said the lass, "do not be such a, how do they say it in American? Ah, yes. Do not be such an asshole."

"Illyana!"

"Peter," said Illyana, "I know you are attempting to protect me, but you must think. If we stay here, if we do not seek proper help, we-"

"We will be fine, Illyana," said Peter. "There is no need to worry. You have seen what I can do."

"And what can ye do, lad?", said Sean. Peter's head then swiveled right back over to Sean, his eyes wide. "Funny, that; you put up some kind of closed front, like some sort of steel gate, but a few words from your sister, and ye be crumblin' down like the Berlin wall itself."

"And what is THAT supposed to mean?", said Peter, his voice beginning to rise in intensity.

"It means," said Illyana, "that you really cannot keep a secret from anyone so long as I am around. And perhaps, if I were not around, you would not be so overly protective-"

"Quiet, Illyana," said Peter.

"Now," said Sean, "that's not quite right, is it? Tryin' to shy up your own sister. She is your sister, isn't she?"

"Our parents," Peter started to say, "passed away several years back. I have had to provide for both her and myself ever since. So yes, she is my sister."

* * *

As Sean and Guy continued to do whatever they were doing inside what Bobby honestly considered to be not much more than a refurbished hut, he noticed a most curious sight down the road. It seemed to be two tall, strong men in tailored business suits and sunglasses. The Men in Black, thought Bobby? They seemed to be coming Bobby's way, and it wasn't long before they reached their destination. Still, if either of these men happened to be Will Smith or Tommy Lee Jones, the least he could do was get their autograph. Which would be great, except these two men were clearly not Will Smith or Tommy Lee Jones. In fact, one of them had a rather nasty scar covering part of his upper lip, and the other had his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a gold-ish tatoo that read 'BUBBA'. Or at least, he presumed it to be so; he never really bothered to learn Russian. But who knew; maybe Bubba was a Russian name first and the English adopted it. The possibilities were endless.

"Howdy, gents!", said Bobby to the two men once they got close enough "Me American! Me waiting in front of house! Do you speak English?"

Without any proper prompting, the two men each grabbed a gun out of their pockets and pointed them at Bobby.

"Whoa whia WHOA! Let's not go pushin' those itchy trigger fingers, huh? We're all civil people here..."

"Turn yourself around," said one of the men, in a rather thick Russian accent, "and raise your hands. Slowly."

"Hey now, no need to be that way, huh?", said Bobby, slowly doing as the man said. "We're all friends here, aren't we? You know, I just think you really need to chill down..."

Bobby wasn't honestly sure if this would work, but then again, there was a first time for everything. As he turned around, he also raised his hands up into the air. And just as the two men started to come closer-

"BADDA-BING!"

-just as they started to get closer, Bobby fired a beam of intense cold out of the back of both of his hands. Of course, he didn't exactly have the best aim just now, given that he only had an idea of where he was firing, but seeing as he wasn't dead, he figured he must have gotten the job. When Bobby finally got a good look at them, both men were entirely frozen solid. That was what he got for being practically blindfolded. Still, he wasn't exactly trying for points here.

* * *

"Bobby?", said Sean. He had trained Bobby just enough to know a blast of cold when he heard it. His hearing was rather good as well; he thought he was starting to hear some sort of Russian voice from outside of the house, and as it turned out, he was right. Guy must have heard it too, as he had already been slowly moving closer to the door. And now, both they and Peter bolted through the doorway, with Illyana tagging along. The lass suddenly sported the most cheerful grin. Strange lass, that one. Come to think of it, if Peter was the only family this girl had, than mutant or no, she just might have to come along. He wondered if she'd make a good friend for his own daughter...

"HEY-YO!", yelled out Iceman. "Guess what I got here? Couple of big ol' Russian hitmen, from the looks of 'em. Maybe even the Mafia."

"They ARE the mafia," said Peter, as he gazed at a sight he could likely scarcely imagine. And yet, he didn't seem as surprised as he ought to have been...

"Peter?", said Illyana, looking at Peter in anticipation.

"Ye' finally got somethin' to say, boyo?", said Sean.

"_Da," _sighed Peter, in his native Russian tounge.

"In that case," said Sean, "we'd better get a move-on. We've got somewhere a tad more inconspicuous. Also safer. Ye can't see it, but it's not far. We'll talk on the way." And so, as they started to walk, they talked.

"So, Petie," said Iceman, "anything ya' wanna' tell us? Must have done something to get these guys comin' after ya'. Murdered one of their own, maybe? Ex mobster on the run?"

"Bobby," said Sean.

"Yeah, yeah, I get ya'. Sorry about that, Petie."

"Do not call me 'Petie'," said Peter. "It makes me feel as if I were some sort of parrot..."

"Bobby didn't mean nothin' by it," said Sean. Actually, he did, but he figured it was best to keep that to themselves. "Now, Peter; how did you come to be here? And do not worry; if it hurts too much to say it, ye can always give us the short version."

"'The short version'," said Peter. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, wondering just what to say, until he finally opened up."As I said, our parents died years ago. We were left by ourselves, with little means to survive. Our parents were farmers, but the fields had started to become dry and unfertitle; it was only recently that they began to thrive one again. I attempted to aquire honest work, but in the end, the pay was not enough enough. And Illyana was very much ill at the time time..."

"That true, lass?," said Sean.

"It is said to say," said Illyana, "but yes. I was 8 at the time."

"I was 16," said Peter. "For now, I will not give circumstances, but around that point, I became..."

Apparently, Peter thought it would just better to show them. He stopped dead in his tracks, closed his eyes, and concentrated. It all happened so fast. In barely the blink of an eye, hard cold metal formed around his skin; rather, it became his skin, or maybe even his entire body. His black hair became steel as well, and he grew from an already impressive 6'8 all the way to a solid 8'0. A true colossus. And then, several seconds later, he changed back in a reverse of his prior transformation. Becoming 6'8 and flesh and bone, once more. Sean stared in disbelief. No wonder Xavier located him. An ability like that was bound to stick out like a sore thumb to a psychic as powerful as Charles.

"The first time that happened, I was attempting to plow the fields, to no avail. At some point, I simply changed without even noticing. I only did so when I could no longer feel the weight of the plow within my hands. Now, I do not know how, but the Mafia somehow got wind of it. They-"

"They figured," Sean interrupted, "that it would be worth a go trying to get a colossus like you on their side, didn't they?"

"I suppose so," said Peter. "And I needed the money. And so I accepted their offer after a time, doing what they asked, all the while slowly feeling myself dying inside. I never wished to do any of what I did. But-"

"Tell me," said Sean. "Did ye ever, ye know..."

"Kill anyone?", said Peter. "No; I do not believe so. They never sent me to do anything of that nature. Though that does not mean I never hurt anyone. But then-"

"Then," Sean once again interrupted, "they finally wanted ye to get some blood on your hands, did they not?"

"Yes," said Peter. "But by that point, I had already become sick and disgusted with what I had done. Doing THAT was, how do you say it in America? That was 'the final law.'"

"'Final straw', boyo."

"Ah, yes," said Peter. "But I was not stupid. At first, I made it seem like I accepted the deal. This would give me and my sister time to leave home; go somewhere else. But one of my bosses had doubts. He sent another to watch over me; to make sure that I did, as they said, 'what needed to be done.' In the end, I turned on my 'supervisor' as quickly as I could, and rushed home to take Illyana and run away from here. To anywhere. And then-"

"And that's when we showed up," said Sean.

"Yes, said Peter.

"Well lad," said Sean, "seems to me you, or at least your sister, needs some protection. And before ye say, 'I can protect her myself,' or somethin' along those lines, trust me; you can't. Ye can't be everywhere at once."

Peter opened his mouth, as if about to say something, but quickly closed it, as if the lad knew he was beat. " You, you might have a point. So then; you run a school, yes?"

"Yeah," said Sean. "That is what I was trying to say before you tried to to turn meself away, though of course, I now understand the circumstances a wee bit better."

"I see," said Peter. "And this is a 'mutant' school?"

"'Mutant'," said Sean. "Not a term I particularly like using meself; it's a more than a wee insulting, if ye ask me. But yeah; 'mutant' children, teens, even a few humans. A place for the youngsters to learn about themselves while actually havin' a proper place to do it in. And if your sister, Illyana, is – is she?"

"A mutant, you mean?", asked Peter. "No."

"What he means to say," said Illyana, "is that I have not really showed any signs of being a mutant, one way or the other."

"Well, if ye do be a mutant," said Sean, "I'd reckon you'd start showin' signs any day now. Some mutants, like Guy here, their 'mutation' activates at a very early age, if not at birth. Others can take the longest time to show up, anywhere from 14 to 16 years old. On occasion, maybe a bit older."

"And if she is a 'mutant'?", asked Peter.

"Well," said Sean, "depending on just what her mutation would turn out to be, she might turn into something that, sad to say, most people would think just came out of a Universal horror picture."

"Sean!", said Guy.

"Uh, yeah," said Bobby. "That's goin' a bit too far, even for me."

"Oh, I have no problem with that," said Illyana. "He is simply being honest. There are worse things to be."

"No need to look at me like that, Peter," said Sean. "I did not mean anything by it; simply telling the truth. But on the other hand, most mutants in families tend to have similar types of mutations, even if those mutations within those types are not necessarily the same. Perhaps-"

"Quiet," said Guy. Guy stopped dead in his tracks, like an animal who knew it was being hunted. He looked around cautiously, holding a hand to his ear as if listening for a whispered order. Then he looked hard but quick into the plains. And then-

"We have to get out of here," he said. "Now."

"What do ye mean, boyo?", asked Sean to Guy.

"I mean," said Guy, "there's some sort of heavy vehicle; can't quite make it out, and they've got a bazooka. Once they get in range, which will be very, very soon, they're going to fire. And they've got binoculars. Need I say more?"

"EVERYONE," yelled Sean, "THIS WAY, INTO THE BLACKBIRD! ON THE DOUBLE!"

Sean motioned everyone towards the direction he remembered the Blackbird, currently cloaked, to be in. And then he heard it; the sound of a bazooka shell, whizzing into the air toward their general destination.

"I've got this!", said Bobby .Seeing the round coming at them, he stood his ground and made ready to fire a blast of cold air, like a lamb to the slaughter. Sean shoved him out of the way before he could make a move, and-

"EVERYONE, COVER YER EARS, LEST YE FANCY A KILLER HANGOVER!"

Before they had much of a chance, Banshee opened his mouth wide, and let out a scream the likes of which could curdle the blood of even the most heartless of killers. It was quick, it was deadly, and it decimated the shell, exploding in mid-air before it could reach their destination. Bobby, Guy, Peter, (who already transformed into his mettalic form,) and Illyana were still standing, but Guy was just barely hanging on. Sean was so sorry, but there was no time for debate.

"DUDE!", yelled Bobby. WHA-"

"The ice wouldn't have stopped," said Sean. All ye'd be doing is creating a giant icecube that could still do some serious damage if not stopped."

"Oh," said Bobby. Uh, ahem, sorry about that..."

"Ay, ye should be," said Sean. "Now, let us get in, 'fore they fire off another round. The blackbird's cloacked; they shouldn't be able to see us." He then turned to Illyana. "Don't ye worry, lass; things'll be all right soon enough."

"I am twelve," said Illyana. "I do not believe I should be treated like a mere child."

"Snowflake," said Peter, "this man just saved your life. For now, do what he says. And you are still a child."

"I am not!"

Without much time left to argue, Peter did what was needed to be done, and tossed Illyana onto his shoulder, carrying her kicking and screaming-

"Let me down! Let me down!"

-all the way to the blackbird. Of course, there was first the matter of knowing where the blackbird was.

"By the way," said Peter, "where exactly is this 'blackbird?"

"Follow me," said Guy. "Most people mistake it for so much thin air, but I can make out even the slightest of ripples. Ah; that's where the Blackbird is."

"Go on," said Sean, motioning everyone to follow Guy. "If they be firin' another round, I'll be here to ward 'em off."

However, firing another round did not seem to be on their agenda. Instead, they poured on the gas, and rode off at full throttle.

"Bloody hell," said Banshee. "You all continue on in. The two men in the jeep be runnin' off, and at this point in the game, we do not want our little groups' existence to be spoiled just yet."

"But what-?", Peter started to say, just as Banshee flew off.

"Oh, sure!", shouted Iceman. "Just leave us behind, sure, yeah!" He then said to the others, "so, anyone got a clue as to what he's gonna' do to those two? I mean, we can't exactly take 'em with us, can we?"

No, thought Banshee; no they couldn't. And if this were his old days of Interpol, he would know exactly what he would do. But those days were long behind him. Ever since Maria, Lugh bless her soul, passed on, Sean just couldn't take it anymore. For every time he did take it, every time he brought yet another life to an end, he couldn't help but see her face. Her dear, lovely face...

However, he still had no problem making those fellows wish they were dead, not that he would be doing just that. After a good half a minute or so, he caught up with the jeep. They shouted at the top of their lungs upon seeing an honest-to-Dagda flying man in their midst. He fired a short, intense scream at one of the jeep's tires, stopping it in his tracks; as the jeep rattled from the sonic assault, so too did the man holding the bazooka, as it dropped off to the side, outside of the inner area of the Jeep. Sean swooped in, letting loose a more wide-spread scream to disorientate the two men as he grabbed the bazooka from the ground. Finally, he landed just a few feet from the jeep, and just as the two men , in the process of regaining their senses, were about to aim for their guns, Sean let loose with his scream once more. And yet, this time, his scream had a rather different effect. The pitch varied all over the place like nails on a chalkboard, and was agony to the two hitmen's ears; so much so that they seemed to collapse from the sheer strain. It was done. The bazooka had been safely caught, and the hitmen were down for the count. But more importantly, if Sean had done this right, they wouldn't remember a thing. A little trick he used to use to cover up his tracks, back in Interpol. Still, it was never an exact foolproof science. He could never get it just right. Sometimes, it would work just as intended, scrambling the recipient's memories. Most would set themselves right in short order, but the more recent memories would be lost, perhaps forever. And yet, other times, he couldn't get the proper pitches or timing just quite right, which could on occasion lead to... unpredictable results.

Anyway, it was no good to get so lost within his own thoughts. Those days were behind him. Might even be better off not thinking about them at all. He flew back to the blackbird, though took it him a bit longer to get back then it did coming from it. His throat was starting to get sore, and he was breathing just a wee bit heavily. Back in the old days, he could have performed all that he had just done and more, and still have enough in him for a day's worth of screams. Now, he didn't know if he could even pull off another full-blast scream without resting up some. He was getting too old for this. Then again, Xaiver was as old, if not older than himself, and he was more powerful than ever. The lucky bastard. But enough of that; he thought; he finally arrived at the blackbird, just seeing Bobby saunter up the invisible ramp. Not wasting a second, Sean flew in right after him, and dashed to the driver's seat.

"Got it all taken care off," said Sean, pressing a round red button on the control panel in front of the pilot's seat. "Let's be off, shall we?" And without further adue, they were up up and away, soaring into the sky and back off to Xaiver's.

"'Taken care of'?", said Peter.

"Not in that way boyo," said Sean. "They just may be havin' trouble remembering the last couple of things they were doin' today. Might just have trouble rememberin' seein' all of us."

"They aren't-?", Peter started to say, before Sean interrupted him.

"No Peter," said Sean." I be many things, but that would be something I on no account would do." Not these days, anyway, thought Sean.

"Well, if you say so," said Peter. "You do know that if they ever come for me, and they discover you are protecting me, they will come for you as well, do you not?"

"Of course we do," said Sean. "But why don't ye let us worry about that? If we can't protect one of our own, then how can we protect anyone? And so long as you're with us, human, 'mutant', whatever, you're one of our own."

"Even me?", said Illyana.

"What ye be talking about?", said Sean. "Of course even you!"

"But," said Peter, "I did things, you know. I may never have killed anyone, but-"

"Peter," said Sean, as he looked Peter hard in the eyes, "everyone's done things we regret. Everyone. I am no stranger to that. Ye did what ye felt ye had to do, ye feel so damn bad about it, and now, ye have a chance to make up for it. Welcome to the club."

"You...", Peter started to say, before changing his mind. "I am sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," said Sean. "If I felt sorry about every rotten thing I've ever done, I'd still be saying 'sorry' again and again in me grave."

"You know," said Bobby, "having both an ex mafioso, as well as someone who has plainly just made it clear they aren't a saint either, on board doesn't exactly fill me to the brim with confidence."

"Ay," said Sean, "but I bet ye have somethin' to regret as well."

"And that is?", said Bobby.

"Yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?!", Bobby yelled.

"It means," said Guy, "that you are an ignorant, uncaring, naïve son of a-"

"What it means," said Sean, "that ye've still got some real growing up to do, Bobby. If you're gonna' stay with us, you're gonna' need it.

"Whatever...," said Bobby.

"Don't whatever me," Sean started to say, before changing his mind. "Wait a minute. Ah, that's right. Can't believe I never brought this up, but Peter; tell me, boyo, what do ye feel about public appearances?"

"I would have to say," said Peter, after careful deliberation, "that I would be more open to to the idea if it weren't for the mafia attempting to murder me and string me up by the neck."

"We'll take care of that," said Sean. "So, you ever fancy puttin' on a uniform before?" And as the group went, the Blackbird continued flying onward into the sunset, as it made it's way back towards the Xavier Institute...


	4. Chapter 4: Unexpected Encounters

Chapter 4

"...And so," the Professor continued, "though it may be a bit late to say this after all I have already explained, I will still say, 'Greetings, my X-Men.'"

'X-Men', thought Megan. To think that just the other day, she hadn't even heard of 'the X-Men', and now, she might actually be one of them! Well, not just yet, apparently. If what Jean and Scott had told her on the trip back was any indication, it might take her some time before she could become a full-fledged member of the group, seeing as she had next-to-no experience with her abilities. Didn't stop her from asking why the blue furry elf and the strongman got a pass. They said it was because they actually had some 'real experience', whatever that meant, but she knew the real reason; she was sure she knew! It was because they were were grown adults, whereas she was still fourteen, and it didn't help that she looked like an overgrown pixie, of all things. But that didn't matter so much now. What mattered was that she was now in a large, metallic room underneath the only mansion she had ever had a chance to venture into within her short lifetime

On one side of the room, sitting on what looked like metal bleachers were herself, as well as Scott, Jean, Forge, a black woman wearing nothing but a loincloth and one of Jean's spare bra's, (funnily enough, a fashion statement that she somewhat wanted to emulate, if not go even further,) the blue elf, the strongman, (who, from her brief time with him, actually seemed like a pretty funny bloke,) a tall husky Russian, the tall husky Russian's blonde, long-haired sister, a brown-haired teen that apparently was 'cool as ice', a young man wearing a strange costume who had two antenna upon his head, a blue-skinned drug addict, a black female doctor, a large man with glasses that reminded her of _Planet of the Apes, _(an okay picture; it was a tad overrated though,) a woman with a dark bun atop her head, and an Irishman. It was nice to see someone that even came close to a Wales-man, though she was really worried about Cory.

When she and Cory had finally arrived at the mansion, Cory was shuffled off into parts unknown while herself was practically dragged along into wherever she was now. Okay, it was more like herself had skipped and hopped like a little schoolgirl rushing towards her newest dolly, but still. But what little she'd seen of the school was something; so many kids, many like her even, walking around, hanging out, even going to classes. (Classes; she thought that perhaps she'd escaped that particular bane of existence, but she supposed some things were just unavoidable. Unfortunately.) She still didn't know much about the place, but apparently, both mutant and human teachers taught here. In fact, she had heard something about Jean's-

"Megan ?"

"Huh?" Damn! She had done it again. She always had this tendency to lose herself in her own thoughts, her own troubles, though as far as Megan was concerned, they were worth getting lost into, seeing as they were her own and all; in particular, the strange feelings that had continued to amp in intensity for the last several hours, ever since she got a new pair of wings, had a makeover, and also had the reverse of a sudden growth spurt. She'd always had these feelings, as long as she could remember, but they had never been so strong before. The desire to fly away into the green forests, to be completely and totally free in the woods and the wind-!

" Megan!"

"Huh?!" And there she went again. This time, her neck swerved, and before she knew it, she was facing the Professor.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Uh, um, yes!", she said. "Yes, perfectly alright, thank you..."

"Ms, Gwen," said the Professor, "I do believe I have already mentioned this to you not more than twenty minutes ago, but I am a telepath. I can't help but feel that you are anything but alright."

"Uh, well," said Megan, starting to slightly squirm in her seat, "I am! Really! It's just that I've got some, uh, some problems is all. And doesn't everyone have problems? I mean, I'm sure we all have problems! Take you, for example! You, you're, you're bald! That's a problem, isn't it?!"

It was only after finishing her 'speech' that Gwen truly realized that what she had said was complete and utter bollocks. Unfortunately. "Jean," said the Professor, closing his eyes, pinching his brow, and sighing momentarily, "I'm afraid that Megan's 'problem' cannot afford to wait. Please take her to the forest out back and-"

"Forest?!", Megan yelled out, practically jumping with joy, though she soon forced herself down. "Sorry."

"I know you are," said Xavier. "From what I can tell, you have certain, as of yet, nigh uncontrollable urges, though for 'mutants', even this is unusual. They don't tend to get quite this strong. Jean?"

"I hear you, Charles," said Jean, as she slowly lifted herself up into the air off of the bleachers, (was it telekinesis or something?) and came down softly upon the steel floor. Almost like a fairy. Funny, that. "Come on, Megan."

"Hey," said Megan, "if we're going to the forest..." She just barely managed to keep her wings from buzzing fast enough to take her off the ground, as she practically pranced behind Jean Grey as they exited the room, the circular door sliding open, and then sliding shut behind them, as the two exited the room.

* * *

"Okay," said Guido, "someone wanna' tell me what just happened here? Cause personally, I feel like I just stepped into the start of a whacky sitcom; second they get into the forest, everything's gonna' go completely up the whazoo and the laugh track will start runnin'. Someone tell me I'm not the only one who thinks this?"

"Guido-", Scott started to say, before the bald fellow in the wheelchair cut him off. "That will be quite enough from everyone, thank you very much." If anyone asked Guido, he'd say that the both of them needed to seriously lighten up a bit. What's life without a few a laughs? Of course, if he didn't get his daily yucks, he might as well just commit himself to the nearest asylum right then and there.

"Now," said the bald fellow, "oh, and Guido. Please refrain from thinking of me as a 'bald fellow.' My name is Xavier, as I already explained."

"Yeah yeah," said Guido, "telepath, bald guy, whatever. Ya' ask me though, it's kinda' creepy, having some bald guy in a wheelchair bein' able to read whatever just happens to be on your mind and all..."

"Guido", said Scott, before the Irishman cut in.

"Guido, I appreciate free thinkin', but maybe ye could cut the stand-up and pay attention?"

"Hey," said Guido, "just tryin' to put some perspective in here, is all. Remember, '_always look on the bright side of life...'"_

"I hear ya, brother!", said Iceman. "Love that movie!" And meanwhile, the furry blue elf couldn't help but stifle a few small chuckles. At least someone had sense of humor.

"If we are done," said the Professor, sitting in his wheelchair in the front of what seemed to be some sort of giant projector-thingamabob, "then let us please move on. I have already told you of humans and 'mutants'; of the current situation that exists not only between humans, but even between certain groupings of mutants."

"Yes," said Kurt, "that is one of the things that most interests me. You would think, all of us being labeled as such an abominable term by the greater public, that we would instead unite under one common cause. Apparently, this is not the case."

"No," said the Professor. "No, it is not. Simply put, some mutants looks mostly like normal humans, at least in comparison to some others."

"Like myself, _ja_?", said Kurt. There was just a teensy bit of bitterness in the elf's voice. Having been bitter for a good year or two himself years ago, Guido well understood the feeling.

"In a manner of speaking," said the Professor. "And there are mutants like us, which, as far as we can tell, are quite the anomaly. McCoy?"

"Certainly," said the damned dirty ape, (okay, so he wasn't dirty and he probably wasn't damned, but that wouldn't stop him from referencing the late great Charleston Heston, no sir!) as he leaped from the bleachers and landed soundly next to the bald fellow. He wondered if the Professor picked that one up...

"We have gone over some of this before," said McCoy, "so let me merely clarify a few fine points. All of us within this room are still what one might call mutants, but at the same time, while we are cut from the same cloth, there is something a bit special about us; a bit 'X-tra,' if you will. It gives us powers and abilities that most mutants do not possess; even some who would otherwise be completely and utterly 'human' can still posses these 'X-tra' abilities. And unfortunately, our existence has colored the perception of mutants at large. And that is why the X-Men exist; to alter that perception, as well as to combat any threats that pose a danger to human and mutant alike. Case in point..."

He then went in front of a computer that stood in front of the projector, and began typing various letters and numbers, not that Guido really cared; he was never much of a tech guy. He didn't even have a cell-phone! Why bother carrying one of those around when someone is just gonna' pester ya' with a bunch of text messages every single minute, was Guido's thought. And then he saw it. They all saw it. They saw the man in the red suit and the bowler hat; they saw him move the paperclips around like nothing; and they saw him virtually tell everyone who was anyone to go out and demolish all they could see. At least, that was what Guido saw it as. "That. Ain't. Good."

"In my experiences in the Serengeti," said the half-naked African woman, "I have on occasion seen one group attempting to harm another due to grievances visited upon them in the past. Sometimes, I was able to intervene before the fighting truly began, but other times..."

"'World War II'?," muttered Kurt under his breath. "I have friends who lived through World War II, or are descendants of those who lived through it. I was raised in the same country that that atrocity came from. And what this man is proposing is all but advocating the same beginnings that led to such a war in the first place."

"Yes," said Xavier. "I understand you concerns, and I share them. But this goes deeper than you could all possibly imagine."

"I don't know," said Guido. "I can imagine quite bit, trust me."

"The man who appeared on the video," said Xavier, "said he was Eric Lenshier."

"And what does that have to do with you?", said the Russian.

"You see," said Xavier, "I knew Eric Lenshier."

"Say what?", said Guido. Curiouser and curiouser, said little Alice...

* * *

"So," said Megan, "you just gonna' let me, I mean, you're really just gonna' let me 'cut loose'?"

'Cut loose', thought Jean. Now that would be interesting to see. The two were standing in the thick of a small forest, in the back of the Xavier estate. She'd visit there once or twice, take a walk every now and then; clear her head. Gosh knows she needed it. Of course, if she actually said that out loud, it might have sounded kind of hokey; 'Gosh knows', seriously? But she couldn't help it. She herself hadn't lost faith in the world, far from it, but she had lost faith in who she used to believe had created this world. If there was some omniversal, benevolent force that created the stars and the heavens above, then why hadn't it done something about, well, about everything? Why hadn't it fixed the world, fix her? Heck, why was the world the way it was in the first place? If it were, maybe things wouldn't be in the state they were now. Maybe Scott wouldn't have to wear sunglasses every waking moment of his life. Maybe she wouldn't ever have been put in that goshdarned asylum-

"Uh, Jean?"

"Huh?", said Jean. To be honest, she was just a bit embarrassed; getting lost in one's own thoughts wasn't exactly what one would expect from a telepath, and yet, she'd been doing that more and more lately. She supposed it might have been that she simply hadn't much to do until just recently, but- no. She needed to focus. Now, it was time to stop wondering about everything from Heav- about everything, and focus on the here and now. Now, it was time for class. She wondered what her father would do in such a situation.

"Uh, yeah. 'Cut loose.' Yes, that's right. That's what I want you to do Megan. Well, in a bit, anyway. What we're going to do first is, with your permission, delve deep into your mind, and see what's there."

"'See what's there?'", said Megan. "Well, you can try, but I don't know if you'll find much..."

"Oh, don't be silly, Megan," said Jean, as she walked closer to Megan, and slowly made to put her hands around Megan's head.

"Uh, ," said Megan, "this is all part of 'delving deep into my mind', isn't it?"

"Yup, "said Jean, with a beaming smile.

"Okay," said Megan, who seemed just ever so slightly nervous, not that she could blame her. "This is actually kind of cool, to be perfectly honest, but also-"

"Also a bit frightening," Jean interrupted, "I know. Just sit back, and relax-!"

"Jean?!"

It hit her, hit Jean, like a ton of bricks. 'FLY, BE FREE, BE FREE, THE FOREST, THE FOREST, FLY, FLY, BE FREE, BE FREE-'"

"GOSH!", yelled Jean, ripping her hands off of Megan's forehead and falling to the ground. All she could think was, 'WHAT IN THE HECK WAS THAT?!'. She's always practiced for what she thought would be just this sort of occasion, but as she just learned, she had never been truly prepared for 'just this sort of occasion.' It was like some all-powerful, overwhelming impulse; if it weren't for her own powers, as well as her training in forming psychic barriers, it would have overtaken her completely. She wondered how Pixie could have resisted it all of this time, though she could feel that it had been steadily gaining power and influence. Except that her 'meeting' with the force had done something Jean hadn't anticipated it; it had fully awoken it. Jean was safe enough, seeing as she still had her defenses; not to mention, it wasn't originally part of her to begin with.

Except it was a part of Megan. And Megan, as far as Jean could tell, had no such physic defenses.

Megan!

"Megan!", she yelled out, but it was too late. In Megan's place were her school clothes, now an unworn lump on the grass. But all around her, she swore she could hear what sounded like a sort of buzzing, and with it, a high-pitched giggle that echoed throughout the entire forest. She wasn't sure just what was going on, but she had to do something. She put her fingers to her temples, and after a moment's concentration, cleared away all outside disturbance from her mind. She then spread her brainwaves outwards, searching for all mutant life within the area. The first time she had done this – no, she didn't even want to think about the first time she had done this. That wasn't what was important now; what was important was locating Megan's mind, and-

-And viola! There she was. Her thoughts were still as constant and rapid as as they had been just a minute ago, with not much else other than, 'FLY FLY, BE FREE, BE FREE, THE FOREST, THE FOREST,' but this time, Jean was prepared. The stream of thoughts bounced off of Jean's psychic shielding, instead rebounding back into Megan's own mind. What happened next was not something Jean had planned; not exactly, anyway. The rebound must have done more than Jean thought it would have, because at that moment, both the buzzing and the laughter stopped. Dead silence. However, she was still locked onto Megan's brainwaves; using that as a homing beacon, she walked past the tall oaks and pushed aside the obtrusive leaves of the bushes, until finally, she found her. Or at least, she thought she did. Lying right in front of her on the ground was what at first appeared to be some sort of strange insect, but upon getting a closer look at her, Jean could tell just what, or rather 'who', it was; a six inch tall Megan, with hair now so long and wide that it might as well serve as a robe, and Megan herself was dressed in nothing but her birthday suit. That settled it then. She cradled Megan with her hands before concentrating once again, doing her best to contact the Professor.

_Yes, Jean? I'm terribly sorry, but you will have to make it quick._

_I understand, Professor. Class still in session?_

_In a manner of speaking, yes. I just began speaking about Eric Lenshier._

_What about him?_

_'What about him'? At, that is right, I never truly told you much about Lenshier, did I? A problem I intend to correct._

_That's wonderful Professor. Look, either you need to roll on over here, or you need to send someone who can. Megan's down._

_'Down'? You don't mean-_

_Uh, no. No, she isn't dead. But she is 6 inches tall._

_...Excuse me?_

_You heard me. 6 inches tall. Though somehow – I don't know for sure, but somehow – I get the feeling that this won't last. She's also unconscious. And completely and totally threadbare. We need to get to get her to the infirmary stat, before she gets stepped on._

_Agreed. But as for whether or not she will return to her previous size, we shall have to see. In the meantime, we shall simply have to wait.._.

* * *

"Understood. Over and out."

Raven clicked a button on the cell-phone held to her ear and placed it on a small, nearby table; best she kept it somewhere other than on her person for now, lest it crash to the ground during her upcoming transformation, or worse yet, if her body attempted to absorb the phone into itself as it changed .Clothing was one thing; it was, generally speaking, thin and malleable, at least for her purposes. She never really bothered with anything expensive or overly elaborate; not only were such things as tacky as Changling's hat, (it was almost akin to a giant purple turnip, just to give one an idea,) but why should she ever have bothered when she could just make attire that was both elegant and more flexible with but a thought? Not that ever really needed clothing; with her 'talents', she could likely do away with all that the masses considered 'indecent' in short order. Still, there was such a thing as appreciating one's looks...

"Hey lady, ya' gonna' spill, or ya' just gonna' stand there lookin' pretty?"

Ah yes; the always predictable, always distasteful, and always obscene Freddy Dukes. If anyone ever deserved to be called 'fat bastard', it was undoubtedly him. He was sitting in a large recliner, which, for a recliner, cost a fortune to order, though Eric had always possessed quite the sum of cash; almost as if he could make it all himself. If he did, it was likely all in nickels, dime, and other such currency, but that was neither here nor there. What was here was Freddy Dukes and his recliner. What was also here was the rest of the room; a large, elaborate household. Nothing spared for the best. There were chairs, recliners, sofas and more, all placed around, the room, and all seating a member of their just recently established coalition. "You know, Dukes," said Raven, her fingers slowly becoming fused, grey, and almost metallic, "they always called you 'The Immovable Blob' back in your circus days; your unholy girth forever seemed to prove most impenetrable. I've always wondered if the same could be said of your innards."

"What's that supposed ta' mean?!", said Freddy, almost rising up from the chair until the person next to him grabbed his arm, trying to calm him.

"Hey now," said the person, "we're all in this together, huh? Shouldn't really be fighting 'mongst ourselves, should we?"

The person trying to calm down Dukes was none other than the woman she only knew as Frenzy. She was tall, she was strong, wore black leather from head to toe, and in her ways, had even more at stake than the rest of them. Being a mutant was one thing. Being black was also one thing. And being a woman was another. Being all three was something else entirely. And yet, perhaps this expanded demography was what made her so eager to get everyone to work together as a unit. This one would no doubt prove to be very useful indeed. Also very intriguing; that is, if Raven wasn't already spoke for.

"Maybe you be in this together, mate," said another, speaking in a rather strong Austrilian accent, "but me, I've got different ideas." Ah yes, Sidney, his hair still as blonde and wavy as a roaring series of flames. Always hard to please, Sidney. He used to work as a pyrotechnic, before Raven found him. In a way, he was still performing his old job just as he had always done; only now, he was directing his efforts to a much less mindnumbing occupation. Good for him; all she cared about in Sidney's case were results. If it weren't for his abilities, he might as well go back to old Aussie' and stay there.

"Save it, Pyro," said another. "She's right. One of us acts out of line and it's straight to the slammer, if not worse, for all of us. You may not like 'em, but you always treat your posse with class."

Avalanche. Never one for being terribly inventive, but at least he had common sense. Admittedly, he was something of a late bloomer, his mutation only activating well into his twenties; before that, he had been quite the explosives expert, working his way through one establishment after another. And now, he'd been offered something even better. He was still a tad, skeptical, but she knew that, if not anything else, their 'boss', Eric, had class. The man always paid what he promised. Well, up until now, anyway. She still wasn't sure if Eric would ever be able to achieve her fee for her services, but who knows? Maybe he would in time.

"That shall be enough of the Peanut Gallery, I believe," said Raven, briefly tossing Wyndarge a momentary glance, as he leaned against the back of a wall whilst smoking an old cigarette. Not exactly a talker, Jason. Still, she preferred men of action – intelligent action, that is – rather than g brutes whose favorites characters ranged anywhere from anyone played by Chubby Chase (based soley on the basis of his name, the clod,) to the fast bastard from Austin Powers. (Oh, how she had long desired to erase that wretched piece of scum from her brain for years, ever since she first met him when she whad no choice but to hide out as a showgirl, but as it was, she always had a constant reminder of that atrocity of over five hundred pounds, if not so much higher.) Funny how she and Wyndgarde had met, actually. But enough of that. Now, it was time for-

"-business, gentlemen," said Raven, "although I sorely doubt that any of you can truly live up to such a claim. That is, aside from Wyndgarde of course. Now, we still have a few absent players among us, notably Changling, but most should not be necessary in tomorrow's operation if all goes satisfactory, so I feel that we should begin. I trust all of you have watched Eric's message, yes?"

"Yeah," said Freddy, grabbing a whole fried chicken from a small square table next to his char, "but I still don't know what he's trying to accomplish, honest." He began to wolf it down even as he spoke; she supposed he hadn't taken on the codename of 'The Blob' for nothing. "Ain't th' cops jus' gonna go afta' 'im?" Grease spilled from his mouth like drool as he chomped away, although Wyndgarde quickly 'wiped it off' for all to see. All except Freddy, of course.

"Only," said Frenzy, "they ain't gonna' be able to get him if they don't know where his ass is, now would they? And if he doesn't actually commit any real acts of violence himself, or if nothin' can be traced back to him, what can they do, 'sides make him look like a martyr?"

"Firstly, Frenzy," said Raven, "speak out of line again, and I'll personally cut out your tounge myself.

"You don't really mean that," said Frenzy, her face in an almost-grin. Smart girl. There was no way in hell, if she ever believed in such a thing, that she would cut out the tongue of such a mixture of brains, brawn, and even beauty.

"I'll leave that up to you," Raven replied. "But do you have a point, and I hope to hear more of them in the future. Just be sure to wait your turn. Eric doesn't tolerate disorder in his operations, and neither do I. But, for the more 'gifted' people within this room, I shall attempt to explain this all as best as possible. Most Homo Superiors do not exactly have much fondness for their fellow man; that is to say, Homo Sapien. Simply put, humans fear what they cannot understand, though unfortunately, this seems to apply to many mutants as well. With the vast majority of our kind divided into two separate camps, the 'mostly-normals' and the Morlocks, we aren't exactly in the best of positions. And perhaps more importantly, even if together, the Mutant race is sorely lacking in numbers. Much as myself and Eric loath to admit, we need help. We need supporters; human supporters. Ah, yes; Frenzy?"

"Personally," said Frenzy, after raising her hand, "I don't like it, havin' to side with flatscans like this. My own father-!" She wisely stopped herself before she could continue onto that particular subject; no need to bring personal drama into this. "But, that said, I can understand why we're doin' it, I guess."

"Yes," said Raven, "though rest assured, there will come a time when we do not need them any longer. But for now, we do, and so, in his little speech, Eric also addressed the more universal issues of the world at large. And with all the details of his speech considered, he has truly spoken to all who desire justice delivered upon those who truly deserve it, and in doing so, now has the potential to bring them together. But to do that – yes, Sidney?"

"Let me guess, mate," said Sidney, "they all need a bit of incentive first."

Raven smiled. The pyromanic might have more brains in that skull than she thought. "Precisely. They might come up with what to do on their own, of course, but just in case, it might be best to give them an example. Once shown the way, they can follow the path."

"Hey," said Freddy, now having swallowed his chicken whole, "long as I get to beat some heads in, I'm all in. Sounds like fun!"

"I wasn't finished yet," said Raven to the brainless, overweight oaf. "I neglected to mention what our objective was."

"Get on with it, ya' bloody bike!", said Sidney.

"Luckily for you," said Raven, "I don't know enough Australian lingo to know exactly what that 'colorful' expression means, but I think I get the general idea. Still, funny you spoke up, Sidney; if it weren't for your role in this operation, I'd likely cut out your tongue so as to set an example for the rest." Not that she would actually do such a thing. Still, she had the presence necessary to at least make them think she could live up to her claim. And who knew? If pushed just enough, she well might have done it regardless of what she thought on the matter. "Now," she continued, "aside from Changling, there are a few others who, for one reason or another, could not join us tonight, but no-one truly essential to the operation is present just now, so I believe we can proceed. Now, listen closely..."

* * *

"Hm. A change in the winds? Yes. Yes, I see. Interesting indeed Oh, yes; that's right; here she comes..."

Sitting alone in the living space of the top room of the house was an old, withered woman, sitting in an old wooden rocking chair and facing the large, clear windows which showed the oncoming storm. But it was not this storm she was concerned with. No; Irene knew the travails of destiny quite well; of it's many interweaving bands, ribbons, and threads, weaving in and out constantly like a loom. And yet, even though the path twisted and turned so many times, there was a path nonetheless. Her first sight had been forfeited long ago, but in it's place, she acquired her second, true sight, and to her, that made all the difference. That, and the woman who would be coming up the stairs right about...

"Now. Had a rousing conversation with the troops?"

"No need for you to ask," said Raven, now fully up the steps and walking over to Irene. She walked up behind her and placed her hands on Irene's shoulders, as she had always done. "You already know, don't you?"

"No need for you to ask," said Irene. There wasn't even a need to turn her head; jnot ust because she couldn't 'see' worth a haypenny regardless, but because if she could see, she already knew how this day was likely to turn. "Now, it is entirely unnecessary and time-consuming that I say this, but I musk ask; how was today?"

"It was," said Raven, putting a finger to her lip in contemplation, "most interesting. But first, allow me to slip into something more comfortable, will you?"

"Of course," said Irene. And behind her, she could hear it; the whirling of cloth, of skin, of flesh and bone, twisting and turning within the span of just a few seconds, until-

"Ah; much better."

-until it was done. And while she could not 'see' as most would understand it, this one, Raven, was one she would know under any sight, or even lack thereof. In her mind, she could see her now; all her clothing had vanished from Raven's presence, oozing with her flesh into smooth, blue skin. Her blood-red hair practically spun out of her skull, flowing almost straight to the ground, and there she stood, in all her glory. Well, almost. Her... unmentionables were no doubt nowhere to be seen, but she knew Raven preferred it that way. What better way to cast one's self off from humanity then eliminating that which makes one human?

"Glad to know," said Irene. "Now, you were saying?"

"Ah, yes," said Raven. "Eric called and reconfirmed the plan. I relayed it to the present members of our 'brotherhood'; the rest shall have to be informed in short order. Unfortunately, some of the members in our group weren't exactly receptive. I can tell that this is going to be far more trouble than it's worth."

"Somehow," said Irene, "I doubt that."

"Oh please," said Raven. "You have no cause to doubt anything. Anything but your own words."

"Exactly," said Irene with a smile.

"Yes, well," said Raven, "we shall see. The most important players, if not the only ones, within in the operation are myself and, most curiously of all, Sidney."

"Is he now," asked Irene. "That wretched pyromaniac?"

"I suppose," said Raven. "It appears that before entering his current profession, he actually tried his hand at the arts. Acting, specificly. Obviously, it didn't work out, but it still gave him some skill in that department. That, and his abilities will likely prove to be the most vivid out of all us. And vivid's going to be what we want. Otherwise, I'd just play his part myself. I actually would have preferred that Changling play the part; he would no doubt have a rather more noticeable effect. That is, if he ever bothered not to change himself into Groucho Marx, or to otherwise act like he's performing at a stand-up show for starving comics.

"You know," said Irene, a slight smile appearing upon her withered old face, "speaking of acting, you're probably the most accomplished actor that I know."

"Irene!" Raven attempted to interject, but Irene curtly cut her off.

"Don't 'Irene' me, Raven. When you're here with me, or when you're with Anna, when you're with any of the few people you can truly trust, you are indeed Raven. But when you're out and about, when you're with anyone else, well, there's a reason that some have taken to calling you 'Mystique', I dare say..."

"I still go by 'Raven' often enough..."

"No," said Irene, "that's just what you call yourself. Only here are you, well, you. Only here can you be yourself"

"Irene," said Raven, "we'd had this exact same conversation how many times now?"

"This," said Irene, "would mark our seventy-seventh such conversation of this nature."

Raven couldn't help but chuckle. "I never thought I'd ever be so lucky."

"You always have been," said Irene. "The both of us have been."

"Yes," said Raven, "and soon, our luck shall finally pay off."

"Raven," said Irene. "I will always stand by you, you know this, but I must ask; is this truly where you wish your life to go?"

"Where else is there to go?"

"I see," said Irene. "And I can tell that nothing I could say or do would stop you now, nor would I attempt to bend the strands of fate to do so."

"I know," said Raven. She then bended over, reached out her hands, brought Irene's face around to meet hers, and the two shared a long, passionate kiss.

"Raven," said Irene, after it was done, "I believe there's something else you've been neglecting to tell me."

"It can't be anything you don't already know," said Raven.

"True," said Irene, "but I 'd prefer you tell me yourself. About the 'cyclops' and the 'pheonix'."

"Come again?"

"I could 'see' them, Raven. I could see you. You, Wyndgarde, and them, as clear as day. But for whatever reason, I cannot see the two after that meeting quite as clearly..."

"If you must know, we encountered them when we attempted to recruit my- the performer at the show. They were likely mutants like ourselves, but in the end we didn't quite see eye to eye."

"I see. But, you must know; there is a strand attached to both of their strings. This strand has woven into both of their lives as well as many others, influencing and altering them. A strand that-"

"Irene, please, for once, speak plainly. Just what 'strand' are you speaking of?"

"Tell me, Raven; have you ever heard the name 'Charles Xavier?"

"'Charles Xavier'? No, I don't believe I..."

And then, Raven knew. And Irene knew that Raven knew; it came to her. It was lodged right in the back of Raven's mind, but it came to her. And, together with what Irene had just told her, it jumped out like a demon in a bottle.

"Oh dear," said Raven, her pale white eyes doubling in size in response to her current sense of astonishment.

"Yes, Raven," said Irene. "Oh dear indeed..."

* * *

"Can ya believe it?!", shouted Guido. "Can ye believe the nerve a' that blork?"

"Perhaps you want to be a bit more quiet, _mein freund_...", said Kurt.

A rather loud man, Guido, thought Ororo. If this were the Savanah, he'd surely be eaten up by the nearest thing with so much as an ounce of hunger in it's stomach within seconds. Still, so long as she was here, she would intend to respect his ways; to respect this world's ways. And if that meant she would soon have to wear far moth cloth than she considered necessary, so be it. Or at least, so she thought. She and the other newcomers, the tall Peter, the 'strong guy' Guido, the 'elf' Kurt, and the young Illyana, apparent sister of Peter. Much of this new country, this new world, was like a fantasy to her. They were all sitting in what Xavier had called a 'cafeteria.' Dozens of children and young men and women, and even a few adults, were sat upon several tables spread across the room, with a 'lunch-lady', whatever that was, serving meals in the back of the room. She supposed that was why she was called a 'lunch-lady'.

She knew that she had seen some of this, knew some of this long ago, in her earliest days, and perhaps even several years after that, but it had been so long since she had been among even a small part of that world; not since she was... twelve, perhaps? Fourteen? Thirteen? She honestly wasn't sure. And now, here she was, a grown woman, and she didn't even know what a 'lightbulb' was until someone told her. Or perhaps it was more like reminding her; once she was given the general idea, the rest seemed to just fill in. Sometimes, anyway. But still, she had quite the ways to go; she was still dressed in nothing but her loincloth and a spare 'bra', as it was called, from the red-haired woman. She was getting quite a few looks from the various people within the cafeteria; anywhere from curiosity, to admiration, to perhaps even a tinge of mistrust. She herself had no problem with the former two; what could showing an interest in her ever hurt? But it was the latter that caused her to give her current choice in attire a second thought; she still felt no need to utterly conform, but perhaps if she just-

"So, where ya' from?"

"Hm?" Ororo looked up from the table to see Guido, holding his chin with a massive hand which did nothing to conceal his almost constant smile. "Oh, excuse me; I suppose I was lost within my own thoughts. Not exactly behavior fitting a Go-" She was about to say, 'befitting a Goddess,' before promptly stopping herself. She thought that it was only the villagers and tribesman of the Savanah who considered her a Goddess; that she knew that she was only a pale imitation of such a being. And yet, now she couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't the case.

"Fittin' someone with such a bodess as yourself?", said Strong Guy. "Hard to believe."

"_Mein freund,_" said Kurt, "please. You know," he continued, now speaking to Ororo, "I could almost believe I heard you about to say..."

"Say what?", said Ororo. Sharp hearing, that one.

"Ah," said Kurt, sipping his cofee, "it was probably nothing. But I think Guido had the right idea. If we are to be working together for who knows how long, or even not that long, I believe we must learn at least something about one another, and perhaps in turn, we may even better learn of ourselves."

"I do not know if I am so comfortable with this," said Peter, finally speaking up, before Illyana nudged him. "Snowflake?"

"First," said Illyana, "do not call me Snowflake when anyone else is around. It is always somewhat embarrassing."

"But Snowflake-"

"And second," Illyana continued, not stopping herself for a minute, "you must relax! We are in the United States now, away from the gun-wielding apes that seek to shoot us and bury us deep under the Earth."

"Illyana!"

"Tell me," said Kurt, "is your sister always this vivid?"

"Kid," said Guido to Illyana, "ya' ever consider seein' a shrink? On second thought, don't bother. All they ever ask ya' 'is 'how do you feel', and then it just goes downhill from there..."

"I see no reason not to describe the reality of the situation," said Illyana, obviously seeming a bit annoyed at the responses to her most 'interesting' interpretation of her situation. "They are seeking to kill us, and this is true. But I believe that, so long as we are here, in a place of such protection, of such power, that there is not much they can do. Now, if we step so much as one foot out of this place, that could be a very different matter, but-"

"Illyana," said Peter, cutting her off, "you are right in that, here, we are safer than we would have been. I admit that. But you are also right in that we are still not truly safe."

"Exactly," said Illyana. "And so, it would be in our best interest to make friends with whoever we can do so with here, would it not?"

Peter seemed to be about to tell Illyana different, but then wisely changed his mind just as he began to open his mouth. "You are right. I have been slightly foolish, have I not?"

"That you have," said Illyana. "If you could speak with Sean and the others earlier, you can speak here." She then smiled even more than she had been. "You do not need to be in Russia to speak."

"Yeah," said Guido, "come on! Now I really wanna' know who wants to kill who! Come on, uncle Peter, tell us a story! Tell us a story!"

"There is not much of a story to tell," said Peter, who finally seemed to be easing up, "but I suppose there is little harm in telling it now. Yes, Illyana you are right. We must make friends where we can. Also, 'Guido', was it? I welcome your enthusiasm, but I do not quite understand half of what you say. Not the words; I can understand them well enough. It is more how you phrase them that baffles me..."

And so, after Guido did his best to explain how Americans sometimes tended to tell their jokes, and how Peter then attempted to explain how Russian's told theirs, and then after Peter told those at the table what he had told Sean, Ororo decided it was her time to speak.

"Most fascinating," said Ororo, "even though I do not know what a 'mafia' truly is, or many of the terms that you are using, for that matter. Oh, I know the words, but I do not always understand their proper context."

"It is the same with me, _fraulein_," said Kurt, "as English is, admittedly, not my language of choice either, though I may know more than some. Though I at least know what a 'mafia' is. So then, Peter; you are here for protection, are you?"

"More for my sister than myself," said Peter. "That, and because me and my sister were promised free room and board."

"Always enticing," said Kurt. "I cannot tell you how many times I wished I was offered such an opportunity when I was in the carnival." He stopped to take a sip of his coffee, slowly tasting it at first, before beginning to gulp it down. "This is actually quite good..."

"'Carnival'," said Ororo. "Another word that I know, but again do not fully understand it's proper context. It is some sort of, of amusement or attraction, is it not?"

"Yes," said the smiling elf, "it is indeed. In fact, if you would let me indulge you..."

"Yes, of course," said Ororo.

"Very well," said Kurt. "My history with the carnival began at a rather early age. As far back as I could remember, in fact."

"Personally," said Guido, "I sometimes find it hard to remember anything so much as a night ago. Then again, that really only happens when I get drunk enough to dress in drag and do the hula, so-"

At moment, Kurt, who had just began drinking his coffee once more, promptly seemed compelled to spit it out. And if Ororo had been drinking anything as well, she may have felt the same; strangely, the word 'drag', was one such word that she did know the concept of, and the same went for 'hula.' Putting them and Guido together did not exactly make for the most beautiful of mental images.

"-so you can promptly spit your coffee over the table at my expense, though I guess I can see why."

"Uh, ahem; as I was saying," Kurt continued, "I never knew who my 'real' parents were, but it did not matter. As far as I was concerned, my true father was the ringleader of our little band, Adolf Wagner."

"'Adolf'?", said Guido. "Nothin' to do with you-know-who?"

"He was not a megalomaniac dictator, if that is what you mean," said Kurt, seeming somewhat annoyed, and justifiably so. "But this man was unlike many other men. Most would have simply left me to freeze to death in the harsh cold that he found me in, but not him. As far as he was concerned, and is still concerned, we are all children of the Lord."

"That," said Illyana, "is subject to opinion."

"Illyana!", Peter started to say, before Kurt cut him off.

"It is alright," said Kurt, turning to face Illyana. "We all have our own beliefs, and I respect them, even if I do not agree with them. Still, I shudder to think of what could lead such a pretty little thing to such a conclusion at such an age."

"Our parents," said Illyana, "were taken from us a few years back. We did all we could, but we could not save them in the end."

"Sickness," said Peter. "That is what ultimately led to my most 'interesting' last few years, as I had to provide for myself and my sister however I could."

'Our parents were taken away from us,'. Somehow, that struck a cord right within Ororo, almost as if she was starting to remember memories she had long kept buried...

"_Ach,_" said Kurt. "I am so, so sorry to hear that. But at least you were able to know your parents; I myself was never able to meet whoever had spawned me. You should at least take comfort in that."

"I suppose," said Illyana. "But I think that, if God did exist, I would still be living with my parents."

"And I can understand how you feel that way," said Kurt, "but the Lord works in mysterious ways. But speaking of 'work'; my family, (I consider all of my fellow performers my family,) continued to perform, with myself trained as a member of the group as far back as I can remember. As it turned out, I was quite adept at such a job, in more ways than one."

"Yeah," said Guido, "I'd seen you perform a couple a' times 'fore the both of us left the ol' theater. After all that smoke, I still don't know if I'll be able to smell 'nothin for a week."

"Sorry, _mein freund,_", said Kurt. "Still, not only was I good at it, I rather enjoyed it. The thrills, the excitement-"

"The adoration?",Ororo interrupted.

"Ah, yes; that too," said Kurt. "I suppose that may well have been part of it. I was not blind as to what the world would normally think of one such as me, but when I was on that stage, it was as if everyone could see me for who I was, and not what they thought I should be."

"You mean," said Guido, "a nasty, foaming booze-swilling beastie from the depths of the fiery down under?"

"Aside from the booze," said Kurt, "that adequately covers it. But as time went on, I became more and more aware of the state of the outside world, and knew that there were many who were not so lucky as I. Or worse; that there were some who might even consider my line of work to be self-derision, as if I were a clown strutting around for the masses. I would be lying if I said that I did not at least feel that in part. For some time, I've had thoughts about putting my days of a performer away for at least a while, despite how much I love it, in favor of truly seeing what the larger world is like now. And with the X-Men, I may finally have gotten my wish. What about you, Ororo? If I may ask, how did such a lovely oasis come to be here?"

"Well," said Ororo, lightly swirling about the coffee in her cup with a spoon, "to be honest, I am not entirely sure."

"Hey," said Guido, "when are we ever?"

"You must understand," said Ororo, "I have been a Go- posing as a Goddess for some time, and-"

"Have you now?", said Kurt, cutting her off. He seemed just a bit tense, as his white eyes narrowed.

"Was it something I said?"

"No," said Kurt, though his behavior betrayed his words. "Please, go on."

"Well," said Ororo, continuing her tale, "as I said, I have spent most of my time being considered a Goddess in the depths of the Savannah, though it was not as if I simply put the title upon myself."

"No?", asked Kurt.

"No, no it was not," said Ororo. By now, she noticed that Kurt seemed to tense up whenever she brought up the notion of a Goddess. She personally did not think the notion of deities to be that strange, but then again, perhaps that was Kurt's problem. Still, best to continue on for now. "It was the villagers that gave me such a name. I had been in the Savannah for some time, but there was something of a drought in some areas of the land. One day, I was flying over a village, and couldn't help but look down at it. The land was parched, half of the crops were all but lifeless, much of their lifestock suffered from famine; what could I do?"

"What did you do?", asked Kurt, with particular emphasis on 'did'.

"My ability," said Ororo, not batting an eye, "is to control the weather. What did you think I did? I watered the land, and when that was done, gave it sunlight. And then I did whatever else needed to be done afterward to restore it. After that, they took to me calling me something I was not, but who was I to correct them? If that was what they thought, then let them think it; either way, I did not actively guide them toward that course."

"No," said Kurt, beginning to grimace, "but neither did you deny their claim."

That much was true. She would be lying to herself if she said that she didn't at least appreciate some of the praise that had been given upon her, but surely there was no harm in that. She didn't truly consider herself a Goddess; that would be completely and utterly foolish. Wouldn't it? "Kurt, I do not know what you think of me, but know this; I do not truly consider myself to be some sort of higher power, or anything of the sort, but even if I attempted to refute the villager's claims, I doubt they would have accepted it."

"Perhaps," said Kurt, still skeptical. "So long as you know the difference..."

"Please, Kurt," said Ororo, "what do you take me for? I know what I am, and that is one who is purely mortal, although with the power to change the very course of the weather itself."

"I see," said Kurt, slowly beginning to ease up. "I suppose. So long as you are not only being honest with me, but more importantly, being honest with yourself."

"Of course," said Ororo, almost lying through her teeth. She had never been completely honest with herself, not since she first soared into the skies of the Savannah and realized what she could truly do. But perhaps it was even before that. She still couldn't quite remember...

"So," Kurt continued, now beginning to smile again, his toothy fangs almost shining in the sunlight, "what led you the Savannah in the first place? I can't imagine you were there for sight-seeing.

This could be troublesome, thought Ororo. How could she tell him what she wasn't even quite sure of herself? How could she tell him that she didn't so much as remember much of her life up until she was a starving orphan in Egypt's streets? How could she-

On second though, she might as well tell him just that.

"You told me your own life story," said Ororo. "It is only fitting that I tell you mine. Or at least, what I know of it."

"Interesting," said Kurt, beginning to grin from ear to ear. "A dark and troubled past? Mystery and romance?"

"A past," Ororo continued, "yes. The trouble is, it's not exactly-"

"Hello; were we interrupting something?"

Cutting in from the side of the table were two complete newcomers. They were two young woman, each seeming around the same age, and each holding a lunchtray. The one on the left had long blonde hair and was just a bit shorter and younger than the one on the right. Speaking of which, the one on the right had short black hair; more interestingly, she seemed to be Vietnamese. She had encountered on occasion various travelers and tourists who had heard rumors of 'The Storm Goddess,' and attempted to seek such a great being for themselves. Most of the time, they trembled in fear and, after attempting to explain themselves, eventually ran off when they did meet her, but if there was one thing she had always liked about such meetings, it was the people. In particular, she had learned about quite a few ethnicity's this way, Vietnamese included. But most intriguing of all was that standing right next to her were two small children, a boy and a girl, both Vietnamese. A mother, perhaps? She had wondered what it would be like to be a mother herself, though the more she thought about it, the more the notion of nursing whining, troublesome children became less appealing.

"Ah," said the Vietnamese woman, "I did not properly introduce myself. I am Xi'an Coy Manh, this school's librarian." She then gestured towards the children at her side. "These are my brother, Leong, and sister, Nga." Finally, she turned to face the woman at her right. "And this is Laurie Collins. She is, uh, how do you say it?"

"I'm the school's therapist," said Laurie. "Uh, hi." Interesting couple. Xi'an seemed to be rather calm, collected, relaxed, though not particularly energetic. Laurie, on the other hand, seemed a bit more nervous, unsure of herself.

"You," said Xi'an, "are the new additions to our school, yes? Would you mind if we joined you?"

"Not at all," said Kurt. "Anything for a fine pair of ladies such as yourselves."

Xi'an giggled slightly at that. "Thank you." She then motioned for her siblings to join her table's bench, and for Laurie to sit down as well, though it seemed as if the children had less trouble doing so than Laurie did. Almost as if she wasn't all that confident when dealing with newcomers. "So, are you all enjoying it here?"

"Too soon to say," said Ororo. "So, if I may ask; what exactly is a 'therapist'? I know the word, but I do not fully understand the concept."

"You, you don't?", asked Laurie,

"No," said Ororo, "though I have been soaring about the Savannah for much of my life. There are quite a few subjects that I suppose I am somewhat ignorant on."

"Yeah," said Guido, 'like dressing up as Xena in public. Not that I'm complainin'..."

"''Xena'?", asked Ororo, puzzled. As far as she knew, 'Xena' wasn't even a word. There was still so much to learn...

* * *

"'Don't be cross, get your ass out the door, just do the job'. That bloody bike!"

Of course, muttering under his breath didn't do Sidney or others much good, not that he cared. All he knew was that he had a job to do. It wasn't exactly a normal job persay, but so long as he got paid, what harm could it do? Of course, he'd prefer to just burn something ablaze; not only was it easy, it gave him such a feeling; like he was on the top of the world, like he could take on anything, like the world was in his hands. In other words, it was just bloody fun. But still, a body needed to eat. He just needed to get this done, and then, well, he supposed he'd have to go from there. Why they didn't just get Changling was beyond him, though then again, he never really met the blighter. He supposed Mystique preferred someone she could trust, relatively speaking. He personally wouldn't trust himself as far as he could burn himself, which was honestly not at all.

But that was enough of that; it was time to get things cooking. He was dressed in a red-hot hoodie and a pair of jeans, and was casually walking along the street, minding his own business. He took a quick glance around; a policeman was walking past him in the opposite direction, as if he were just doing his rounds. Had to be her. And that meant that it was time. He clicked a lighter strapped with rope to his wrist, hidden under his long sleeves. Sad to say, but he couldn't create the fire. What he could do was, with even the most miniscule spark imaginable, turn that spark into a storm of fire the likes of which could probably burn down the entire Empire State Building if he put his mind to it. Quite frankly, he didn't see the point to it, though he supposed if someone payed him enough, it was a possibility.

Back to business. Soon enough, the fire burnt through his sleeve, and was now big enough for all to see. It still didn't hurt him any, and he at first thought that he didn't need to let the audience know that. Only problem was, as Raven, or as he referred to her while on a job, Mystique, bloody well pointed out, how would acting like he was burning alive to the point where he was practically well done count when he had nothing to show for it? Better to play it honest, at least to an extent.

"What, what the hell? I'm, I'm burnin', I'm burnin'! 'Cept I'm not burnin'! I'm on fire, but I'm not burnin'! How in the hell?!"

At this point, he was getting the crowd's attention; mostly the flatscans, as some mutants, himself included, ofttimes referred to the stupid blighters. Not that he gave much concern, but still, it was what it was. But there were also a few mutants in the crowd as well; a man with an extra arm, a woman with the fur, ears, tail, and whatever else of a cat trying her best to hide under that trenchcoat and failing miserably, and so-on and so-forth. Either way, everyone was staring at him in awe. Either that, or shock, fear, and/or confusion; take your pick. And it was about time for the copper to make his grand entrance.

"HEY! STOP IT! STOP, STOP WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING, RIGHT NOW! STOP FLAMING AND, AND LAY YOURSELF DOWN ON THE GROUND, RIGHT NOW! YOU HEAR ME?! DO IT!"

Perfect as usual, thought Sydney. Now if the rest of the plan could just go off without a hitch...

* * *

If hiding out the rest of his days could go off without a hitch, thought Logan, then he was a wolverine's uncle. It was the end of another day's work at the shop, and Buck was about ready to go on another buck-filled, beer-loaded 'adventure'. Logan decided to take a pass; not that he didn't mind the buck-hunting, or the drinking, but he never exactly cared for when he was in one of his moods. Nothing he couldn't handle, but neither was it something he wanted to handle. Best to just go on home and-

"YOU HEAR ME?! DO IT!"

He could hear him; he wasn't even on the same block and he could hear him. Loud; scared; confused; a cop. And not his problem. Except that there was something 'off' about that voice. He wasn't exactly sure why, but something about that voice; somehow, it didn't seem genuine; it didn't seem like it was telling him truth. And then, he got a scent; a good, long whiff of a scent that he hadn't smelled in so long. He hadn't even remembered he ever smelled it, until just now. Brought back some long memories. He was working on – no, he wasn't sure what exact mission he was working on, but he was on something. And then; and then he remembered. Not everything, but he remembered. And right then and there, as his eyes went wide and his hands outstretched like claws, he remembered the owner of that scent.

He couldn't help himself. Out of the three knuckles on each hand nearest to the thumb, almost instantly, popped three long, metallic claws, and almost everything in his mind went blank. Everything but one thought, and one thought only: RAVEN.

* * *

"AHGH!"

That was it, thought Raven; just perfect. It was going along swimmingly. Holding her gun, now smoking, the 'poor, new mutant' had just suffered a fatal gunshot to the heart. Of course, if one wanted to see a bullet melt almost instantaneously in amazingly hot temperatures, they would need to be both close enough to notice, as well as be rather sharp observers, but with the current frenzy and chaos, she had little doubt that they were eating it all up. Some were running away, shouting at the top of their lungs; others were shouting her, the 'policeman,' on, encouraging her to 'slaughter the damn mutie!' And still others, mutants and humans alike, were getting ready to pounce on her. After all, to them, she was unjustly assaulting a brand new mutant who didn't truly know what was going on with himself and how to control his abilities, even as the surrounding area around him started to be set ablaze. He needed help, not to be treated like a wild beast! And that was exactly what they wanted. Never mind that dear old Sydney was wearing kevlar underneath that baggy hoody in case anything went wrong, or that he was in no true danger aside from possibly performing an act of public nudity within several minutes or so. No; all that mattered now was-

"RAVEN!"

-was the strange, growling, foaming-at-the-mouth cry that she had just heard from down the block. One of the Brotherhood finally deciding to make their move? And yet, now that she thought about it, she couldn't help but almost recall something or another. No; she could swear that she had heard that voice before. If only she could just remember...

And then she did. And all she could do now was whisper under her breath a name that she had forgotten long ago, and that she thought she'd never need to hear again: Logan.

She'd have to get out of here fast, though fortunately for her, the crowd was giving her a most welcome opportunity. They were screaming at the top of her lungs, and began pelting her with apples, oranges, umbrella, purses; one of them even had her claws out, ready to go offensive. Normally, she wouldn't stand for such insults, for such disrespect, but discretion was the better part of valor. "LISTEN UP, ALL OF YOU!", she shouted. "A SQUAD'S GONNA' BE HERE ANY MINUTE NOW, SO YOU'D BETTER KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU!" Not surprisingly, the pelting continued, but she needed to make her exit believable, or at least believable enough She then bolted straight off around the corner. As she did so, she could now hear the hurried footsteps of that beast of a man, rushing down the block like a man possessed as he pushed past and leaped over anyone in his way. She needed to make her way out and fast; quickly rushing into an ally, she changed her form into that of a young, fit Olympian gymnast, and then dashed straight around the corner yet again-

"RAVEN!"

Impossible. And yet, evidently very possible. There he was, his haggard and bestial face looking her straight into the eyes, breathing and moving like a savage wolverine. Somehow, he must have known that this was where she was likely to be, and then he somehow must have rushed ahead and- but no matter. She had to get away. She knew Logan, both professionally and intimately. Anything that would kill an ordinary man would merely be another way for Logan to get his kicks. Still, she knew of one way to at least buy some time; not wasting a moment, she lifted her knee, and rammed it straight into his groin.

"GRAGH!"

Funny; of all that his skeleton supposedly protected him from, she figured that the most vulnerable spot would get the most protection. Still, men would be men. But she knew that this would only buy her precious seconds at most. If it wasn't Logan, and if she could afford to just do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, she would just put a bullet in his brains. Except it was Logan, and she couldn't afford to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, and even if she did put a bullet in his brains, all that would do would be to immobilize him for a minute at most. She knew that, without proper intervention, he would be able to track her wherever she went for the time being, and that if she bothered to even try to fight Logan, it would only result in a pointless stalemate. She would shoot, he would heal up; he would stab her, she would shift into a fully healed form, and even then, that would take some serious effort and even more serious pain, unlike Logan.

Still, a thought occurred to her; if she could capture him, he could be quite the prize. Of course, to do so, she would have to call in her 'pals', and it was possible that doing so would quite possibility jeopardize all that they had been working for without the right spin. Fortunately, she was quite confident that she could find such a spin. Still running, she touched a small, barely noticeable tracking button on her gun, courtesy of Eric. If this worked, it could alert the rest of the Brotherhood to wherever she was, and as things were, they were likely just several blocks away. She's no doubt have to explain all of this to Eric, of course, but if successful, the results would make such explaining null and void. All that was left was to keep on the move and out of reach as much as possible, until assitance arrived. And yet, one question suddenly popped into her skull; one question that was now at the forefront of her mind, and that she now needed answered above all else:

How in the hell did Irene not see this coming?

* * *

"-so," continued Laurie, "after the Professor finally managed to help me get a lid on my pheromones, I set up shop as a therapist. Pheromones can be pretty darn handy when it comes to that sort of career. Eventually, I got wind of the Professor's 'next step', and they asked me if I could come over and set up shop. I'd always been looking for a way to pay Xavier back, and now I finally found it. What else could I say other than yes?"

How about, thought Peter, 'I am sorry, but I have other responsibilities, such as many other patients that do not have the luxury of being able to afford a pristine school such as this, or otherwise do not have the correct prerequisites to attend. I work for the people, not for one particular school'. And yet, Peter was hardly one to talk. After all, he had joined the Mafia in order to provide for his sister. He could have turned them down. He could have said no. And yet, for one reason or another – perhaps he thought that they might come for his little snowflake, or perhaps there was a part of him deep down that sick of the farming life; he truly did not know – he accepted. But still, as far as he was aware, what he was apart of now was not something he could do, at least at this stage, without the help of the others here, and their incredible resources. Being a therapist, on the other hand, not so much. He understood the importance of making a living, but wasn't it also important to use your abilities to help as many as possible rather than confining oneself to one group or establishment? As far as he was concerned, being a 'human' or a 'mutant, did not truly matter; they were all people.

And yet, he was no fool; he knew that it did matter, if only because those who thought it did continued to target those who did not. And so long as his sister could possibly become one of those who could be targeted, she was his top priority. Especially if that 'Eric' ever reared his head again. From what the Professor had told them, which wasn't much, he had met Eric long ago. A very powerful mutant, capable of controlling magnetism itself; just how useful would he himself be against him, then? He was also a survivor of WWII; Peter's great grandparents had fought in that war, and when they were still alive, they had all sorts of stories to tell. Some were enjoyable, inspiring, or even heartwarming, but most were anything but. And if the Professor's one-time impression was correct, then Eric was a very determined, very driven, very resourceful, and very powerful man. He might even see the current treatment of mutants as the start of another holocaust; he might still be going too far, but Peter would be a complete and utter fool if he ever said that there was no truth to such thoughts. But still, as long as he was with the X-Men and they kept Illyana under protection, he would do as they asked. And if this 'Eric' so much as threatened innocent lives, if he ever threatened Illyana, he would be the first to challenge him, metal body or no metal body.

"Uh, Peter?", asked Laurie. "Earth to Peter..."

"Oh, sorry," said Peter, snapping out of his train of thought. "There is still much on my mind."

"Same here," said Guido. "I can't tell you the last time I had so much stuff on my noggin; probably gonna' get brain damage any second."

"'Guido', wasn't it?", said Peter. "I would much appreciate it if you would stop with what you call 'joke'. I can appreciate attempting to 'lighten up' the situation, but, well, maybe I just do not understand it, but if I may be honest, I just do not think you are very funny."

Guido simply sat there for a moment, his body or eyes not moving so much as a twitch. That is, until finally-

"Oh, wise guy, eh?", said Guido, in a most appropriate accent. "Lookit, boys; we got ourselves a wise guy! And you know what we do with wise guys."

"I am not sure that I," Peter started to say, until suddenly, a most curious series of thoughts begin to appear within his head. And yet, somehow, he knew they weren't his own.

_Everyone, this is the Professor speaking. I am most sorry to interrupt, but I believe this is rather urgent. Cerebro, our mutant tracking system, seems to have picked up two very strong signs of mutant activity. And what's more, they are not alone. Several other strong signs seem to be making their way towards the former two even as I think. And what's more, they are all coming together, almost like a pack. We cannot take the risk that they are not hostile; it may be too soon to say this, but this could be Eric on the move. I know that some of you have not even been here so much as a full day, but I believe that we may well need all of the support we can get. If you could all make your way to the hangar area, please..._

"How about that?", said Guido. "Looks like we're about to get some fun-fun-fun! And so soon."

"I believe," said Kurt, grinning, "that I will be the judge of whether or not this will be truly 'fun.' Although, I could use a decent duel every now and then..."

"Come," said Ororo," rising from her seat. "Let us see what the fates await for us."

"Can I come? asked Illyana, practically jumping up and down in her seat. "Can I come?!"

"No, sn-" Peter wisely stopped himself; she would always be his little snowflake, but if she did not wish to be called that in public, well, he would deal with that when he had the time, but for now, it was better to just leave it. "No, Illyana; you have no powers to speak of just yet, and I could not bear the thought of you being hurt."

"Ah, come on..."

"I will accompany you," said Xi'an, "at least to the hangar bay. Laurie?"

"Huh?", said Laurie. "But, but I'm, I'm not, I'm just-!"

Xi'an groaned. "Oh, do not be like that! After all, you will not be doing any fighting. Probably."

"'Probably!'," yelled Laurie. "'Probably!' I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but I'm a therapist, not a warrior woman!"

"And I am not asking you to be," said Xi'an. "We will only accompany them until they have taken off. Besides, they may not know how to get to the hangar bay."

"I-" Laurie started to stammer, but soon enough, calmed down. Probably for the best; there was no need to overreact to any situation, even when said situation could seem most dire. "Yeah, might as well. So long as it's with you..."

"It will be fine," said Xi'an, as a small smile cropped onto her face. She then turned to face Peter and the others. "Come," she said. "We will show you to where you need to go, and then you will go."

"A fine arrangement," said Kurt, the smiling devil. "I always did wish to have two ladies draped under my arm."

"Hey!", yelled Guido. "Ya' stole my line!"

"Naturally," said Kurt. "Shall we be going mademoiselles?"

"Of course," said Xi'an. "But just so you know, my tastes veer more towards, let us say, the same direction as yours."

"I am sorry," Kurt began to say, "but you shall have to-" And then, right then and there, it hit him like a slab of concrete, as his eyes began to widen, and his jaw dropped. "Oh. I see. You, you prefer apples that fall from the same branch as your own, so to say?"

"That is correct," said Xi'an.

"But, ah, surely, this other fine little-"

""I'm experimenting," said Laurie. "With, uh, with her, actually..." Nervously, she pointed at Xi'an. Kurt was practically shriveling, the poor soul.

"Uh, well, good for you. One should always expand their horizons, as they say." He did his best to laugh it up, but all he could do was conjure up the most feeble of laughs that Peter had ever heard.

"Come, comrades," said Peter, thinking it best he intervene. "Time is always short, and continues to grow shorter. Should we not make our way to the 'hanger area'?

"Yes," said Xi'an, "of course. This way, everyone." As she walked by Kurt, she flashed him a wink, before continuing foreward; he was practically speechless. Laurie walked by him as well. "Uh, sorry. Really, sorry!" And so, everyone else, Peter included, made their way out of the cafeteria, leaving Kurt Wagner the last of their group within the room as Guido's stream of riotous laughter made it's way through the halls.

"_Nien..._"


End file.
